Back to Life
by Bad Company
Summary: Sequel to GET OUT ALIVE. Going back to California would be messy and possibly just as dangerous as ratting out the club. But if she went along with the feds, the possibility of ever going back home would become nonexistent.
1. Chapter 1

**Back to Life**

By Bad Company

Disclaimer: Don't own the Sons, Charming, or affiliated characters, just Holly. Also don't own song lyrics; courtesy of the Allman Brothers.

**AN: Okay, I know I shouldn't be starting another fic while I'm working on BWB, but I just had this sitting on my computer and thought I'd throw it out there. I know some people thought I shouldn't continue with my Holly storyline, and I'm not so sure if I should myself, but this just sort of wrote itself. I'll leave it up to you guys – if you hate it, I'll just take it down and we can pretend it never happened. And I used Stahl. I was wary of it since she pops up in so many fics and I didn't want to be repeating a pattern, but I think she fits – I needed a fed and who else could I use but the Ice Queen?**

**I'm afraid I won't be updating it very fast at first while I finish my Chibs fic, but here's a start. Let me know what you think!**

**Also of note: this is a sequel to GET OUT ALIVE. If you haven't read that, this won't make a bit o' sense. And I won't be following the season 2 storyline exactly, but you'll figure that out.**

**_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________**

"_Go somewhere and start over; be whoever you want to."_

Hannah Spencer was not from California. She was blonde, and swore it was natural even though a close examination revealed dark roots. Hannah worked afternoons and weekends at a chain sporting goods store in Denver. She didn't know jack shit about ski equipment or basketball shoes, but she could work a register and pull fishing poles out of cardboard boxes and it sure as hell beat serving beers and whiskey to low-life truckers and construction workers. Of course, it wasn't as if she'd know anything about that. She wore her store issued blue polo and khakis, forced a brittle smile for the customers, and prayed no one asked any questions about the little scar that curled down from the corner of her mouth like a fish hook. Because if anyone asked her what had happened, how she'd earned the mark, the fragile shell she'd built up around herself might crack in two.

She wasn't sure why she'd picked Colorado, but had developed a mild appreciation for the scenery. The snow had piled in early the previous winter, blowing and drifting across the city, turning everything white and thankfully not reminding her at all of the place where she'd grown up. She liked to watch the sun go down behind the silhouette of the mountains, found an appreciation in the coldness of the Western spring.

Back in November, when she'd first rolled across the state line on slick tires, she'd taken half the cash in the envelope and rented a one bedroom, fourth floor apartment in the cheapest section of town. She spent two weeks sitting in the unit's little living room, staring out the window, not doing anything, just existing. Her lung had healed, but it hurt every time she drew in a breath. When she closed her eyes, even just to blink, she saw her father; saw his face looming over her, purple with drunken rage. She felt his hands on her wrists, smelled the whiskey on his breath, and could still recall the intense puncture of pain as the broken bottle entered her.

She had waking dreams of hospital staff in blue scrubs, flitting around her, the soles of their sneakers scuffing lightly across the tile. Sometimes her eyes stung with the memory of the lights…so many bright lights shining down on her. At night she would wake screaming, legs tangled in the sheets, sweat pooling at the base of her throat and the small of her back. It would take a handful of moments filled with nothing but the sound of her pounding heart before she realized that she wasn't in the hospital, or on Jax Teller's couch. She would always sigh when she remembered that she was safe now, but then pulled her knees up under her chin and hugged her legs when the loneliness descended.

She tossed and turned, prayed for sleep and never quite attained the slumber her body craved. And when all the nightmares and terrors had exhausted her, her thoughts would drift to _him_. That first night, back all those months ago when he'd come into the bar, she had known he was the one. Sure he fit her pattern, but he was more; he was what she'd been struggling to find since she was eighteen. She had sensed it even from a distance. The meanness had rolled off him in palpable waves and it pulled her in like a moth to flame.

If she thought about it, she could trace her tendency towards inappropriate men back to the very day her mother died. Dorothy had only been forty. Ovarian cancer. It had been quick and painful, though was preferable to the slow, arduous torture the she herself had suffered at the hands of her father. It had started when she was thirteen, when she hit puberty. Carl Jessup was a pathetic excuse for a man; one so frustrated by the death of his wife, his poor status in society, and his overall stupidity, that he'd raped his only daughter for all of her youth. She'd never had any friends because she was too afraid to let other girls into her world, expose them to Carl's perversion. And any time she showed interest in a boy, she was punished. Severely.

When she was eighteen, she came to a realization. She needed a man, a _bad _man, a man bigger and stronger and more violent than her father. Someone to make all the bad things that had happened to her go away. Someone who could silence her father…for good.

He'd done it. Her one. Her dark-haired, flint-eyed biker had put a bullet through her father's chest. He'd saved her, however reluctantly, and now she was alone. In Denver. All by herself.

"_Go somewhere and start over, be whoever you want to."_

That's what Jax had said when he put the envelope in her hand. Even though it shouldn't have been so, a part of her that hoped for something better had died that afternoon in the cemetery. She had taken the money, climbed into her 1971 Camaro and gone far, far away from Charming California. Never to return. And the man who had saved her thought she was dead.

She couldn't look at herself in the mirror for a long while, couldn't face the scar without blanching. She had lost twelve pounds during her hospital stay and now food just tasted like ash in her mouth, so she staved off eating until her stomach was so empty it nearly caved in on itself. She'd changed her hair and that had helped a little. She worked with nice people, but people who could never know the real her. Never know Holly Jessup from Lodi; the girl with a weakness for bad boys and a dead father who'd nearly killed her.

So she was Hannah here in Denver. And despite her best efforts, Hannah had an admirer in the form of Jeremy the stock boy.

She sat behind the store on her lunch break, legs dangling over the edge of the loading dock. She hadn't packed a lunch. She never did. It was April but scraps of snow still clung to shady patches of pine chips around the landscaped rear of the building. The sun was directly overhead, bright, but not warm in the slightest. She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jacket and curled up on herself as she heard the door open behind her.

"Hey, Hannah, you out here?" she recognized Jeremy's voice.

_No, dumbass _she thought. _I'm the fucking ghost of Christmas past. Who do you think it is?_

She didn't respond and heard his sneakers across the concrete as he drew up to the edge of the ramp beside her. "It's a cold one," he said cheerfully, making that _bbbrrrr _noise to indicate just how much so.

He sat down and let his legs flop over the concrete drop, turning to her with puppy dog eyes. "What are you doing Friday?" he asked.

She made a point of staring across the expansive maze of parking lots and strategically arranged and planted median gardens. She watched bundled up patrons move in and out of Chili's and Marshall's, trying to seem as disinterested as possible in the scrawny stock boy beside her. She knew where this was heading, where Jeremy was trying to steer this one-sided conversation he'd started. He'd dropped subtle hints and compliments for the past few weeks, had suggested they might catch a movie some time or stop in at Chili's after work. She always smiled faintly and said "sure" or "maybe one day" without any intentions of going out with the poor kid. She had been forced to do what other people wanted her whole life – she was done playing that game. She had decided four months ago that she was just going to sit idly by and watch the rest of her days go past. No drama. No people. No pain.

"Because," Jeremy continued, oblivious. "I've got a friend in a band – I've told you about Brian, right?"

She felt herself nod.

"He's got a gig at that club that opened last month, said he could get us in free, right up next to the stage. I mean…that is…_if _you'd like to go with me…"

The door behind them squeaked open, cutting him off. "Hannah?" a female voice asked, sounding slightly shaken.

She turned, registering the freckled face of Becky, the Saturday day shift manager. The young woman's normally porcelain skin was fish-belly pale, her freckles popping out like tiny brown buttons.

"What's wrong?" Hannah asked, starting to rise. Something about the way the manager was looking at her made her uneasy.

Becky shook her head. "You better get inside," she said with a gulp. "There's some people here to see you…say they're federal agents."

Every part of her that was "Hannah" abandoned ship. Holly Jessup raked suddenly trembling fingers along the collapsing sides of her ponytail. Four months. She'd gone four months before her past caught up to her. So much for being someone else.

***

"_I've got to run to keep from hiding…_

…_And I'm bound to keep on riding…_

…_And I've got one more silver dollar…"_

The Allman brothers were interrupted by the frenzied, staccato assault on the air by automatic gunfire. The AK-47 bucked against the front of Tig's shoulder, fighting the easy grip his left hand had on the barrel. A whole unique set of passive muscles in his arms and chest absorbed the kickback and the bullets tore open the dead center of the paper bullseye. The pierced sandbag sent up little signal puffs of dust. He emptied the clip and lowered the weapon with a satisfied smirk. Nearly thirty years out of the Corps and he still had it.

"…_And the road goes on forever…"_

…_And I've got one more silver dollar…_

…_But I'm not gonna let 'em catch me, no…_

…_Not gonna let 'em catch the Midnight Rider…"_

"Turn that shit off," Clay grumbled, stepping out of the warehouse and waving towards the radio set up a few feet behind the fire line.

"Juice," Tig jerked a thumb at the younger biker and he jogged over to shut off the device. "What?" he asked as the President drew closer and the frustrated set of his jaw became visible.

Clay put his hands on his hips and shook his head, waiting for Juice to rejoin them before he spoke. "Unser called," he said. "That ATF bitch's been on the phone half the afternoon with Hale – digging for shit again."

"Stahl?" Juice asked, brown eyes going wide.

Tig frowned. Bobby had been out of Stockton for four months and things on the Irish front had been deceptively smooth and quiet. There wasn't anything that should have flared the interest of that wily bitch. "There's not any shit to dig," he said, feeling fairly confident in the thought.

"You sure about that?" Clay asked over the rims of his shades.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tig asked.

The other man shrugged. "Just wondering if maybe there's something I should know before the feds bust in our door again," he said vaguely, glancing away.

"Hold up," Juice took a deep breath, starting to look almost panicky. "She's gone. Right? I mean, we've been laying all kinds of low lately."

"It's fine," Tig assured quickly. "She's just trying to rattle our cage is all."

Juice flicked a glance between the two older men, looking unconvinced. His mouth pulled to the side, unable to keep his "thinking face" in check. "Hey…you don't think…" he glanced up at Tig.

The Sgt at Arms knew instantly what the little tech wiz was thinking, and prayed for the love of God he kept his retarded mouth shut. Only one violent, bloody, devastating thing had happened since Donna's death; the death of yet another woman, his bartender.

He elbowed Juice hard in the ribs, earning a little yelp and a dirty look.

"Whatever," Clay mumbled. "We got other shit to deal with right now, it'll just make next week's Niner deal a little more difficult. I want eyes on the suits," he aimed a finger at Tig. "I don't want a fed within fifty goddamn feet of the garage or the factory, got it?"

Tig frowned at the amount of force the President levered into his order. "Yeah," he said sourly. "I got it."

***

Holly had never set foot inside a police precinct, but she'd watched enough procedural crime dramas over the years to know how things would go down. She sat in a dank little interrogation room at the nearest Denver PD station house, arms folded against the occasional blast of air conditioning that gusted down from the vent in the ceiling. The place had all the intentional charm of a meat locker, putting her 'on ice' so to speak. She sat behind the card table on a folding chair with one bad leg; all part of the design. The African American fed who had escorted her in had set a bottle of water for her on the table with a comforting smile.

"Just relax, Miss," he'd told her. "Agent Stahl just has a few questions for you. She'll be right in."

Relax. Yeah. Sure. She glared at the water bottle. They knew that nerves would scare off all the moisture in her mouth and she'd drink just enough that she'd have to pee and be wiggling uncomfortably in her seat the whole time; unable to focus on the agent's questions. How fucking stupid did she look?

The heavy steel door opened with a _click _and a slim, strawberry-blonde woman in a black power suit slid into the room, as self-assured and oily as used car salesman. "Holly, I'm Agent Stahl," she said by way of introduction, closing the door and turning to her. She had a manila file folder propped against one narrow hip, long fingers of her other hand smoothing the front of her jacket. She stood back for a moment, head tilted, scrutinizing Holly like she was a piece of meat. "Oh," she said in mock surprise. "You've changed your hair."

The first little icicle of fear stabbed at Holly. How did this woman know about her hair? They'd never met.

Stahl grabbed the back of a chair from the corner of the room and pulled it up to the table, settling into it with a flourish of jacket straightening and hair ruffling. She turned to the side, crossed her legs, and then fixed Holly with a devilishly polite smile. The kind the 'good cops' used to put their suspects at ease. It had the opposite than intended effect.

"Okay, Holly," Stahl said. She opened the file and pulled out three sheets of standard ink jet paper. One was a photo copy of Holly's driver's license photo from California, and the other two were jumbled mazes of tightly-pressed type that she couldn't read without squinting. "This is you," Stahl tapped at the photo. "Back before the whole makeover thing you've got going on. And this, you should recognize," she shoved one of the other sheets at her.

Holly scanned it with disinterest, registering her father's name somewhere at the top.

"That's Carl Jessup's death certificate," Stahl said. "Your father. Seems he was shot to death the same night you were attacked."

Holly glanced up at the woman's expression of fake sympathy and felt all the scant color drain out of her face. "How do you know about that?"

"Lodi police took a report from Jackson Teller the night you were admitted to the hospital. Acccording to him, your father attacked you and you shot him in self-defense. You do know Jax, right?"

Holly didn't miss the hungry gleam to the agent's eyes, the way her mouth pulled up in a satisfied bow when she said Jax's name. Holly was no dummy. She knew the legal perils that went along with membership in an outlaw MC, knew that this bitch had more than likely been after the Sons of Anarchy for a while now.

"I'm wondering how you and Mr. Teller came to be associated, Holly."

She didn't respond, just met the agent's stare unfazed.

"Because what I think," Stahl continued, leaning forward almost eagerly. "Is that you stumbled into SAMCRO looking for a good time and ran across some info that turned out to be…" she slid the third piece of paper towards her "…deadly. This is your death certificate, Holly. A forgery, obviously, but still, I'm guessing it fooled most people. Especially what's his name, oh, Tig? Is it?"

Holly couldn't keep from jolting upright in her chair at the sound of his name and instantly regretted it.

"Ah ha," Stahl smiled. "Now we're getting somewhere. You see, Holly, the _initial _report from Lodi PD said that Mr. Trager was in the house at the time of the shooting. As was Jax Teller."

"What are you getting at?" Holly asked through gritted teeth. She was envisioning that horrible, bloody night all over again and something like panic was tearing at her scarred lung.

"What I'm getting at," Stahl leaned even closer, dropping her voice to a near whisper. "Is that even though you survived, someone wanted you dead. Someone with enough money and sway to get a fake death certificate drawn up for you, someone who thinks you're a threat to his organization. If you were in tight with SAMCRO, you wouldn't be selling tennis rackets to Desperate Housewives three states over, am I right?"

Again, Holly said nothing.

"Let me tell you something, sweetheart, those biker boys ever find out you're still alive, you won't be for long. The Sons have charters all over the country. You won't know where or when or how, but they'll get to you. It wouldn't be the first time a pretty little thing like you got bumped off."

Holly thought of the night Tig had told her about Opie's wife, about the hit that had been meant for her husband but had killed her instead. She thought about the way Tig's eyes had darkened in color when he'd recounted the tale, how his hands had trembled ever so slightly. She sucked in a deep breath and pinched at the headache that was burning behind the bridge of her nose. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to tell me the truth about that night you were attacked, Holly," Stahl said in all seriousness. "You give me one name, one goddamn scrap of something I can use against these assholes and I'll set you up with the end all wit pro package. You pick a state and I'll put you there."

"What's the catch?" Holly asked.

Stahl looked taken aback. "No catch. You get to move on, I get the Sons behind bars. We all win."

"And if I refuse?"

The tiniest of evil smiles tweaked Stahl's lips as she stood. "I'm heading back to Cali tomorrow. Let's just say that if Clay Morrow thinks there's a rat around the corner, there's no way I can protect you." She grinned a little wider. "Think it over and get back to me before ten in the morning. But do yourself a favor, Holly and take the deal. Those leather-wearing rednecks aren't worth your life."

***

Stahl gave herself a mental pat on the back as she stepped back into the bullpen of the Denver precinct. It had taken her a while, but she'd finally been able to dig up something on the Sons. The deaths of Holly Jessup and her father had flown below her radar until she'd spotted that news clipping that showed paramedics hoisting the gurney into the back of an ambulance. The photo had been grainy, and she'd had to squint, but she'd recognized the blonde man in the hooded sweatshirt immediately. She'd never forget a face that had glared back at her so defiantly. It had taken months to track down the little biker tart, but now the plan was in effect. All the effort had been worth it.

"How'd it go?" Agent Estevez asked her in a hushed tone.

She grinned marginally. "Better than I thought. Kid tries to play the tough cookie act but she's scared shitless."

Her junior agent nodded. "What do we do now?"

Her grin widened. "We go back home and wait for the shit to hit the fan. If we're lucky, little miss Holly won't even wait 'til morning."

"Wait," he frowned. "You think she's skipping town?"

"I _know _she's skipping town," she corrected. "Lacing up her running shoes as we speak."

"That's suicide," Estevez said.

She shrugged. "So she's been told. I don't really care. Her going back to Charming is gonna be better than poking a stick in an ant nest. Once Clay and the others realize she's still alive, they'll come so undone it'll be like shooting fish in a barrel getting one of them to talk."

"So we let her stir them up without being involved directly."

"Exactly."

"Pretty smart," he nodded his appreciation.

She grinned. "That's why they pay me the big bucks."

***

Holly paced the floor of her little apartment living room and tore savagely at a ragged nail with her teeth. She'd walked so many circles around the coffee table she thought she must have worn a ring in the carpet.

All she could think about was the bearded, sullen friend of Jax's: Opie. ATF, agent Stahl even, had painted a nice pretty rat picture to the club, nearly gotten the guy killed. _Had _gotten his wife killed.

Life in Denver wasn't really life, wasn't really anything she felt a part of, but who was to say that wouldn't change at one point? She'd only been on her own for four months, which wasn't long enough to know if the pain subsided. If the nightmares eventually faded. She was not one of those down-on-herself suicide freaks; hell, if that had been the case, she would have cashed in her chips a long time ago. No, she didn't want to die.

So then the question became one of two alternatives. One; go along with Agent Stahl and give up what little she knew about the club, earn herself a new address and identity. Or two; get to SAMCRO before ATF did.

Her legs got tired of pacing and she sank down on the sofa, resting her forehead in her hands. Going back to California would be messy and possibly just as dangerous as ratting out the club. But if she went along with the feds, the possibility of _ever _going back home would become nonexistent. And the only people who had saved her from her incestuous hell would get locked up, possibly for the rest of their lives.

She stared at a stain on the carpet and traced her scar with a tentative finger. She couldn't feel it, but she had followed the curved route in the mirror enough times to know its exact path across her face. It mocked her now, teasing her with alternate versions of events.

If she'd never thrown out the invitation to Tig, her father never would have been so enraged, would never have attacked her so violently, might still be alive. She wouldn't have left. ATF would never have stormed into her place of work and shattered the fragile persona she'd built here in Denver.

But she couldn't change the past. And she couldn't change what she had to do now. She dug her cell out of her back pocket and scrolled through her phone book until she landed on the right number. She took a deep, shaky breath and pressed SEND.

The other line rang.

***

"Are you stupid or something? Wait a minute, don't answer that," Jax grumbled, shoving the Prospect out of the way as his phone trilled to life in his back pocket.

"Aw, don't be too hard on him, Jackie-boy," Chibs said from his perch on a tool chest. "Not his fault he can't tell a Ford part from a Chevy."

Jax snorted as he pulled out his cell and checked the display. He frowned when he didn't recognize the number. "Yeah?"

"Jax…" a quiet, female voice said on the other end. "Jax, it's Holly."


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Okay, now that I'm done with BLOOD, WHITE, and BLUE, I'll get to work more on this. I must warn you though, I have a shit-ton of stuff to do for school in the next few weeks and I won't be able to get much writing done. Hopefully, Thanksgiving break will give me a chance to put up another chapter.**

**And, BWB sequel is already in the works…because seriously, Chibs? Fiona? I'm still not convinced she actually cares about him.**

**I decided to clarify some things about this story; I won't be going into season 2 at all here, I don't want to mess with the masterpiece that Kurt has set before us. So, no Zobelle, no Jimmy O., no Gemma rape. This is purely AU.**

**Happy Thanksgiving everyone!**

* * *

The sun was halfway to its noonday spot when Holly crossed into the San Joaquin Valley. She had driven straight through from Denver, only stopping for gas and coffee. Now she was badly in need of a shower and watched the road with bleary, red eyes. All the coffee and the nerves had turned her stomach to a grumbling, sour mess. She would have given her right arm for a nap. Realizing that she was so near her destination was both a relief and a whole new worry.

Outside her windows, the scrubby, muted greens and beiges of the northern California landscape flashed past. The homes were modest, sleepy even. It was almost warm and she'd cranked down the driver's side window of the Camaro, enjoying the smell and the feel of the air.

Another mile marker reminded her that Charming was painfully close and she sighed, fishing her cell out of her purse in the passenger seat. Here went nothing.

"I talked to…" Clay trailed off as Jax's phone trilled in his pocket for the fifth time in the past ten minutes. "Jesus Christ, answer the goddamn thing," he said, abandoning their informal sit-down and going behind the bar for another beer.

Jax scowled and Bobby shot him a curious look. "Woman trouble?"

"Somethin' like that," Jax muttered. He checked the ID display on his cell and hoped no one noticed his shocked frown when he recognized the number. "I gotta take this," he said, heading for the door.

Clay made a noncommittal noise of recognition.

"What?" Jax answered as soon as he was outside. He knew the aggravation was plain in his voice and it piqued Chibs' attention. The Scotsman was overseeing the Prospect's attempt to replace the fan belt on a Civic and pushed away from the car.

"Jax?" the voice on the other line questioned a bit timidly. Holly.

He sighed and staved Chibs off with a raised hand. "What the hell, Holly? You can't just call every five goddamn seconds-,"

"I'm in Charming," she said.

"What?! Are you shitting me? I _told _you coming back here was a _bad idea_."

Chibs joined him anyway at this point, staring at him over the rims of his shades.

"I didn't have a choice," Holly said, voice taking a firmer edge for the first time. "She told me I could either join up or die – literally, Jax. She said your President would have me killed."

Jax sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward. He did not need this shit. Holly back in Charming was ten different kinds of bad. "Hold on," he told her.

He covered the cell's speaker with his hand and implored his Scottish brother with a wide-eyed look. "I got something I need to handle," he said quietly so Half-Sack wouldn't overhear. "And I might need your help later."

Chibs arched a single brow but nodded. "Whatever you need, brother."

Jax sighed. "Can you cover for me with Clay? Tell him Tara called about the kid…anything that'll keep him off my ass for a few hours."

"Aye."

"Thanks," Jax knocked him on the shoulder as he headed off to his bike.

***

Estelle's Diner drew in a sizable lunch crowd and Jax was about to decide she hadn't come before he finally spotted her. She was sitting at a window booth, elbows on the table, the brim of a Dodger's ball cap pulled low over her face. She was wearing a black track suit and sneakers, a far cry from the tight jeans and boots she'd sported several months ago. Jax walked past her once before he realized it was her. She stuck out as the only one not chatting and eating and getting lost in the grease and steam and clink of flatware on plastic dishes.

He slid in across from her, shooting one last glance out the window to be sure they were alone. Then he looked at her, really took stock of her for the first time, and was surprised.

Holly had lost a good bit of weight and it showed in her face; her cheeks looked almost hollow, not so round and pink as they'd been before. She wore very little makeup and the scar at the corner of her mouth stood out in dark contrast to her pale complexion. The scraps of hair that escaped her hat were platinum blond.

"Jeez, I look that shitty?" she asked, arching her still-dark brows.

He shook his head. "Naw…just different." Then his face hardened. "You shouldn't be here, Holly. Do you know what's gonna happen if someone finds out you're alive? If _Tig _finds out you're alive?"

She'd started shaking her head before he had all the words out. "I didn't have a choice."

"You always have a choice."

"No, I didn't," she repeated.

He sat back and braced his hands on the table, sighing loudly through his nostrils. "What the fuck do you think happens here? Huh? I just take you back to the clubhouse and you tell Clay you're not a rat? It don't work like that."

Holly sighed and scratched her head through the top of her hat, squinting in frustration. "I just…" she sighed. "I just needed to tell you. I did like you asked, Jax, I went somewhere new and started over. But it caught up with me…the lies…that ATF agent had a copy of my death certificate."

A waitress materialized beside their table and Jax and Holly stared at one another, each weighing the other. "…Get you kids anything?" the waitress asked a bit hesitantly.

"Water," Holly said.

Jax waved her away and then gave Holly one more calculating look. He really couldn't figure this chick out. "Alright, what did Stahl say to you…in detail."

She started to speak but smiled instead as their waitress returned with her water. "Thanks," Holly told her, tamping the straw open on the table and then stirring the ice around in her glass. She didn't take a sip.

"She knew you were there the night I was attacked, you and Tig," she said, watching the ice bob in her glass and not meeting his stare. "I guess she figured you guys covered my escape. She said that the Sons of Anarchy had charters all over the country and that once she told you guys I was ratting you out, I wouldn't be alive much longer."

"Shit," Jax muttered. A headache was rapidly taking up residence across the bridge of his nose. "She said that? That she'd set you up as a rat?"

Holly nodded, finally meeting his glance. Her green eyes were fretful. "I'm sorry I came, I really am, but I thought maybe I could prove that I wasn't cooperating with them – if nothing else, tell you about it. I didn't wanna end up like your friend's wife."

He frowned. "Wait…Donna? How the hell do you know about that?"

She bit her lip, looking guilty. "Tig."

"He told you?"

She nodded.

"Jesus Christ…"

"I haven't told anyone," she assured quickly. "I don't think he meant to tell me, he was just…hurting. He had so much guilt pent up, Jax, it was killing him-,"

"Yeah?" Jax was pissed. "And the only thing keeping Ope from putting a bullet in the back of his head is thinking you're dead. To Opie, you being dead is justice or some shit. You show back up like this…make me a liar…"

"I didn't wanna cause any trouble," Holly said softly. She turned her gaze out towards the parking lot, eyes looking shiny and wet.

"Holly…" he forced his voice to soften. "I'm not about letting women getting hurt, you know that."

She nodded but didn't look at him.

"But you have to understand what this'll do to the club…to Opie…to Tig…Clay already tried to have you bumped off once, sweetheart. I can't guarantee that he won't try it again."

She shook her head and dashed at her eyes with the back of her hand. "What…what am I supposed to do?"

Jax thought he might have sighed all that was possible up to this point and surprised himself with another one. Four months ago, when he'd first met Holly, he had been oddly struck by how much she reminded him of Tara. It wasn't that they looked alike, they didn't have the same unconscious mannerisms, but there was _something_ there. Something blatantly honest and raw about the way she asked for help. She wasn't a SAMCRO groupie, wasn't pulling some bullshit damsel stunt just to get in his bed, she was one of the few women to never have given him that come hither smirk that invited all sorts of pleasures to come. Holly was scared, desperate, and had decided that, despite her brush with death, cuts were a safer bet than badges.

He folded his arms over the table and forced her eyes up to his. "I gotta know, if I help you, keep Stahl off your ass, you'll disappear?"

Her eyes widened.

"I can't have you here fucking with people's heads."

She nodded and offered a weak, sad smile. "Don't worry, he wouldn't want me anyway."

Jax nodded. "A'ight. Let's go."

***

"Hey," Clay called across the lot as he traversed from clubhouse to garage. Chibs popped up from under the hood of the car he and Half-Sack were examining. "You seen Jax?"

"No," Chibs shrugged. "Said he had to head out a while ago. Tara called about the little one."

"Kid sick?"

"I think so."

"Hey, guys…" Half-Sack was looking towards the gate, shading his eyes with his hand. "I think we got company."

A black, unmarked Crown Vic was turning into the lot, the tinted windows and side mirror spotlight meaning it could belong to only one sector of society. Suits.

"Aw, fuck me," Clay muttered as the sedan rolled to a stop and the familiar, shimmering strawberry blonde locks of June Stahl popped up from the open passenger door. She had a folder under one arm and a travel mug of coffee in one hand, looking just as pressed and black and white as ever.

"Mother of Christ," Chibs breathed. "What the hell's she doin' here?"

"Unser said she's been chatting up Hale on the phone last couple of days," Clay explained. "Stupid cunt just can't take a hit to the lose column."

"Afternoon, boys," Stahl said, overly pleasant. She flashed a coy grin as she strode around the front of the car, one of her henchmen climbing from behind the wheel and taking up a watchful post.

"Oh gee," Clay gave her a humorless grin. "And I was startin' to worry someone had dropped a house on you. Glad you're still up and around."

Stahl's smile widened as she joined them. "Cute. Really. But you can stuff it, Morrow, I've gotta schedule to keep."

"Yeah? Well you and your goddamn cheese can take a hike – ain't no rats here, or haven't you learned that lesson the hard way already?"

She tipped her head to the side, smile slipping. "This isn't a joke, Clay. I'm gonna need to talk to one of your guys."

Clay and Chibs exchanged looks and eyebrow shrugs.

"I'm sure he has enough past infractions to draw up a warrant if this is gonna be a problem."

The President seethed silently. "You gonna tell us what this is about?"

Her grin returned. "Maybe I'll let _him _tell you when I get done," she nodded behind them toward the garage.

Clay turned and saw Tig stepping out of the office.

Stahl took a half step closer. "It seems Mr. Trager and I have _lots _to talk about."

***

Holly was seriously starting to think that Jax was leading her deeper and deeper into the woods north of Charming so he could put a few rounds in the back of her head and dump her under a pile of leaves. The road wasn't technically paved anymore and the Camaro fishtailed and bucked through the gravelly, pot-holed mess. Branches grew closer together along the sides of the 'road', grabbing at the car's antenna, screeching down the sides and no doubt leaving scratches. Ahead of her, Jax ducked right on his bike and started up a slow hill, the road widening and flattening.

A few hundred more feet brought them to a stop in front of a slightly run-down, stacked stone and log cabin. Jax parked his bike and unsnapped his helmet, nodding for her to join him.

Holly pulled her purse across into her lap and opened her door, but just sat there. She felt a little like Gretel from the old Grimm's fairy tale; ready to walk up to the house of the witch in the woods who ate little children. The cabin was quaint and soft around the edges, the sort of mountain retreat strapping Brad Pitt types hauled their virginal brides off to at the end of Harlequin romances.

"Hey, you coming?" Jax startled her, popping his head through her open door. He chuckled. "I'm not gonna off you, come on, Holly."

She sighed, a little ashamed of herself for letting her imagination get the best of her, and followed him up onto the porch. There was a hide-a-key under the welcome mat and he let them in, flipping on the lights as he crossed into the main living area.

Inside, the cabin was a total macho getaway. Mismatched plaid and leather furniture around the stone fireplace, several deer heads on the wall, a rifle or two, various Harley memorabilia. A felt-topped poker table was set up along the far wall, a narrow, galley kitchen on the opposite. The floors were old, clean-scraped pine planks, covered with ancient rope rugs and several skins from dark animals she didn't recognize. A framed photo of the entire California charter of the Sons was propped up on the mantle. Empty beer bottles littered the coffee table that was actually an old travel trunk. Threadbare, blue curtains filtered the light coming in from the windows along the front wall.

"This is the club's," Jax explained, taking her single duffel bag and heading to a doorway between the fireplace and the poker table. He returned a moment later. "Bedroom and bathroom," he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "And this is the rest," he gestured toward the small living room and kitchen. "It isn't much and it's messy, but it'll get ya by for a few days."

She nodded, folding her arms across her middle. She still felt uneasy.

"Get's kinda cold in here at night and there's no heat," Jax said, reading her actions differently. He waved towards the stack of firewood on the hearth. "There's more of that out on the porch if you need it. There should be food, I can bring some stuff up tomorrow though…" he trailed off when he caught her staring up the picture above the mantle.

Holly hadn't seen him in the past four months except for the nights he showed up in her dreams. She had told herself then that it was just hero worship, some sort of physical manifestation for her gratitude. But now, actually laying eyes on his dark curly hair and blue eyes for the first time, she felt a heat at the pit of her belly that had nothing to do with hero worship. And it brought a sudden panic as well. What if Tig found out she was alive? What if he knew Jax had stashed her away?

Through the course of her life, sex had always been about control – her father keeping her in line. When she sought it out for herself, it was about the end goal of ending her father's control. With Tig it had been different. He was rough and made no apologies for it, but it had been good, and she'd never had good sex before. And he was so fucked up in the head it kept him from having that emotional control to exercise over her. The combination had been unexpected and unforgettable. She hadn't ever stopped wanting more.

"Hey, you here?" Jax asked.

She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. "Yeah."

Jax came around to stand in front of her, blocking the picture from view. "Listen, I can't go through with this if you're gonna freak out on me."

"I'm not freaking out," she said, standing up a little straighter. "I'll admit that I'm scared shitless, but I'm not stupid."

He nodded. "Let's keep it that way. I'll call you tomorrow morning when I know more, but for now, lock the doors and stay put."

"Are you sure no one will find me up here?"

"Piney's the only one who ever comes up here alone – I can keep him home for a few days."

She nodded and took a deep breath, glancing again at her surroundings. A few days alone in a cabin. A little spooky, a lot lonely, but better than dying like a rat.

"Okay?"

"Okay."

He socked her lightly on the shoulder as he headed for the door. "Call if anyone shows up."

She waited until she heard the door open. "Hey, Jax?" she asked without turning.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. Again."

He snorted. "Don't mention it."

***

If it weren't for the table between them and the room full of cops on the other side of the one-way glass, Tig would have strangled this bitch. Stupid gash with her shiny, perfect hair and that smile he wanted to slap off her face. Her and her lean, boyish figure, tits no bigger than the mosquito bite bumps on a twelve year old girl, ass like a pancake. He figured she was one of those bitches who liked to be on top, twist your nipples off and shit just to prove she was the man. She was pathetic.

"I gotta hand it to ya, Tig," Stahl said as she paced the opposite side of the room. "Your track record with the law, I expected to have this conversation with you a little sooner."

He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, staring a hole through her. He didn't have shit to say.

She turned toward him a fraction, lips turned down in an expression of false sympathy. "Shy, huh?"

"Blow me," he said, then grinned. "I hear that's your thing."

"He speaks," she said dryly, coming to a halt right across the table from him. "Well, since you're in such a 'talkative' mood, I'll just skip the part where I tell you what kind of shit SAMCRO's in right now."

He scowled as she whipped the folder out from under her arm for the first time. She'd been holding the thing like it was the goddamn bible during her monologue, fingering the thing lovingly every so often. She opened it now and set it on the table, sliding it towards him. "Go ahead, take a look," she said lightly.

Tig looked as well as he could without leaning forward. He'd be damned if he was going to…Something in the glossy photo she'd exposed caught his eye and he broke his own interrogation code by putting his elbows on the table and pulling the folder's contents closer. It was a blown-up photocopy of a news clipping and he clearly recognized Jax's blonde hair on the figure standing beside an open ambulance door. The foot end of a gurney was being loaded by two uniformed paramedics and Jax's expression was a mess of fury, frustration, and sadness.

"That was taken November twenty fifth," Stahl informed, sliding into the chair across from him for the first time. "I trust you remember the date…you know, the night your little tart kicked off."

Little tart…Holly. He locked his jaw and continued to stare at the picture, not indulging her with the reaction she wanted.

"She died in surgery right?" Stahl questioned, voice heavy with fake sympathy. "Here," she slid the rest of the paperwork out in a neat row, tapping each report as she spoke. "Severe face, neck, and torso contusions, three broken ribs, punctured lung, lacerations to the tongue, throat, and," she swiped a finger at the corner of her mouth ",right here. Vaginal tearing and bruising. She was beaten, half-strangled, and raped vaginally and orally with a broken beer bottle."

Tig glanced up for the first time and Stahl had her brows raised expectantly. "Now, you gotta admit that's some awful, violent shit, even for someone like you, Tig. Her being your little…piece of ass…and all that, no way you'd let that sick bastard get away with it." She moved on to a crime scene photo of Holly's father; dead and sporting a hole in his chest big enough to see through, blood sprayed up on his lifeless face. "_No one _was gonna touch your pussy but you, right?"

Tig felt his teeth grind together. He was shocked by his physical reaction to seeing all this again, and not able to control the way his hands curled into fists on top of the table.

Stahl grinned. "Daddy kills Holly, you kill Daddy. Simple as that." She shrugged. "Still murder though."

"What?" he sneered, voice low. "You gonna arrest me?"

She nodded. "Thinking about it…of course, you could change all that, you know."

He barked a humorless laugh and leaned back again, refolding his arms. "Yeah, I'm gonna rat. Who the fuck do you think you're talking to, huh? I'm not Jax, Opie…I ain't a goddamn teenager with an identity crisis."

Stahl leaned back too, a practiced thoughtful frown twisting her features. "You're right." She nodded. "You're not them. You're…Clay's bodyguard, right? Sergeant at Arms – nobody's friend and everybody's pit bull on a short leash."

He glared at her.

"Let me ask you something, Tig, when was the last time your _club _did something for you? Huh?"

He leaned toward her, narrowing her eyes to that look he knew to be intimidating. She didn't want it to show, but she shrunk in her chair just a bit. "This is hilarious," he kept his voice dangerously low, almost a whisper. "Do you actually think you can pull this shit and get me to roll on my brothers? Do you not have _any _idea who you're dealing with, bitch?"

"No," she pulled up another photo and held it in front of her face. "I know _exactly _who I'm dealing with."

The picture was so close he had to let his eyes readjust, and then he didn't recognize the person at first. It was a girl in her mid-twenties, blonde, half-hot…looked like an employee photo in front of a white backdrop. She was wearing a blue uniform shirt. She had an odd scar on her face though, a little hook that curled down from the corner of her mouth. And something about her eyes, they were green…

Realization clicked into place and Stahl grinned, triumphant. "She's alive," she said quietly. "You _brothers _lied to you. Both of them. I'm guessing Clay tried to have her killed and then Jax whisked her off, MC wit pro to the max."

Holly was alive. Clay had tried to have her killed. Jax had hidden her from him, lied to him. Synapses he hadn't even known existed started firing in his brain, dredging up something strangely akin to emotion.

"Now," Stahl steepled her hands under chin. "Let's you and me have a little chat."

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

Jax couldn't get Tara on her cell so he went to St. Thomas and managed to find out from one of her pediatric interns that she was finishing up a six hour surgery. He bought a Mountain Dew and commandeered a seat in the doctor's lounge, fielding dark looks for nearly half an hour before Tara came in.

She was in green scrubs peppered with tiny dots of blood, her mask untied and dangling around her neck. She pulled her hair out of its clip and offered him a smile as she massaged her sore scalp. "Hey," she greeted quietly, plopping into the chair beside him. "Shannon said you were looking for me?"

"Yeah," Jax leaned forward and kissed her, sliding his fingers through her hair and pulling away with a tired smile. "Remember that phone call I got yesterday?" he asked, lowering his voice so the other doctor in the room wouldn't hear.

She arched a brow. "You mean the one you wouldn't tell me about?"

He cringed. "Yeah. That one."

Tara rolled her eyes but nodded.

"Holly's back in town."

Her brows pulled together in slight confusion. "Holly…as in _Holly_? The girl you helped get out of Charming?"

"Stahl found her, starting pressing her to talk about the club, told her we'd have her killed unless she became a CI and went into wit pro."

"Jesus Christ," Tara breathed. "She's here, Jax? You let her come back?"

"I didn't _let_ her," he said, getting agitated. "She just came."

She looked away, shaking her head. "Haven't things been bad enough around here? God, Jax, this is just gonna stir shit back up-,"

"Hey," he cut her off and turned her face to him with a curled knuckle. Her eyes had that wide, freaked look to them. "I need you to trust me when I tell you that I've got this under control. Nobody's gonna find out she's in Charming." Tara didn't look convinced. "She's been through a helluva rough time, Tara. And now she's scared and she came to me. What am I supposed to do?"

Tara sighed. "Jackson Teller; charitable biker," she muttered. Tara speak for 'do what you want'.

He gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "It'll be fine, babe. Promise."

His phone rang and he checked the display. Chibs.

***

Chibs held his cigarette between clenched teeth while he set up his next shot, leaning low over the pool table and angling his cue through the hollow between his thumb and forefinger. He worked the cue back and forth a millimeter at a time, closing one eye, calculating the perfect shot.

"Dude," Juice sighed. "This is taking _forever_."

Chibs glanced across the table and saw him propped against one of the clubhouse's wooden support columns, swinging his cue stick around absently and nearly spilling both their beers. Kid had no appreciation for a little patience. "Aye," he affirmed, finally taking the shot and sinking his last striped ball. "But I'm _winning_."

Juice sighed and set his cue back in the rack. He'd lost the past three games and didn't want to have his ass handed to him again. He shot a glance over towards the couch where Clay had been brooding for the past hour and arched his brows when he turned back to Chibs. "Hey," he lowered his voice to a near whisper. "What do you think Stahl wanted with Tig?"

"Dunno."

"He's not back yet."

Chibs shrugged. "She likes to hear herself talk. I suppose she'll try to get to all of us at some point."

Juice glanced towards Clay again and then leaned across the pool table, his next question hardly audible. "You don't think…I mean…she's not pressing him with that whole…dead girl thing, is she?"

The door to the clubhouse banged open, cutting off whatever Chibs was about to say. Tig came stomping in, eyes narrowed to slits, nostrils flared.

"Where's Jax?" he demanded.

Clay climbed off the couch with a bit of a wince. "Bitch turn you loose?"

Tig nodded, then shook his head, then nodded again. He was agitated, twitchy. "Yeah."

"Well?" Clay asked expectantly, crossing the room. He set his empty beer bottle on the edge of the pool table and joined Juice and Chibs. "What the fuck did she want this time?"

"Same old shit; looking for a weak link," Tig dismissed. He shot a quick look around the clubhouse. "Where's Jax?" he asked again.

"Not here," Clay said. He folded his arms over his chest. "You alright?" The question wasn't caring, but curious with an edge. "She didn't actually have anything on you, did she?"

"No," Tig said defensively. "What would she have? Bitch is all smoke and mirrors and shit."

Clay leaned back against the pool table. He looked his Sgt at Arms up and down and seemed to give himself a mental shake. "Jesus, she really got to you. Have a beer…or a joint…_cool it_." It was an order.

Tig shook his head again, face unsettled. He left just as he'd come in.

"Where the hell you going?" Clay called after him.

"Jax," he tossed over his shoulder.

Alarm bells started going off inside Chibs' head. He pulled out his phone and hit the VP's number on speed dial.

***

"Yeah?" Jax said into his open phone as he ducked out of the lounge and headed back down the hall. Truth be told, he was anxious for a chance to get out of the hospital. Forty minutes and the stink of disinfectant and that musty scent he attributed to old people was starting to drive him stir crazy. Tara had waved him away with a bit of a sigh. He made a mental promise to make it up to her later.

"Jackie-boy," Chibs greeted him, voice low. "We…um…we may have a problem."

"What?"

"Stahl showed up."

"Aw shit."

"Aye. She wanted to talk to Tig, took him down to base camp and everythin'. He came back pissed, stormed out sayin' he was lookin' for you."

"For me…?" Jax mulled it over as he stepped through the automatic doors out into the parking lot. "Shit! What'd she ask him? He say?"

"No," Chibs sighed on the other end. "But he was pissed. Twitchin' worse than the Prospect."

"That stupid bitch," Jax muttered. He swung a leg over his bike and grabbed for his helmet with his free hand. "You busy?"

"Not really. Clay said something about a sit-down, but we ain't all here…"

"I need you to head up to the cabin, check on something for me."

Chibs made a noise in the back of his throat. "Why do I get the feeling I ain't gonna like this?"

"'Cause you're not."

***

As Jax had promised, the temperature dropped up in the forest after the sun went down. Holly shoved a few logs into the fireplace, added a three week old newspaper for kindling, and lit it up. She sat on the hearth for a while, staring at the happy, dancing orange flames. They lapped at the edges of the wood, crisping the paper away into black ash.

With the exception of the crackling flames, the cabin was eerily quiet. Old floorboards would pop every so often and the fridge always came to life with a _thump _that sounded like someone out on the porch. The nigh sky was darker and more sinister than any she'd ever seen. All the uneasiness she'd felt in the daylight was tripled.

She paced for a while, but the thumping of the fridge had her paranoid that there might actually be someone outside and she plopped on the couch for fear of being seen through the windows. Growing up with her father, she wasn't afraid of monsters, she wasn't worried that Big Foot would come gamboling out of the woods, but angry bikers in ski masks and gloves were a real possibility. She turned on the TV and found a loud, obnoxious reality show that would cover up the superficial noises and propped up on one elbow. Now that she actually thought about it, the beat-up sofa was pretty damn comfy. And she was so, so tired…maybe if she just rested her eyes for a second. Nobody could get the drop on her then.

***

For some reason or other, kilt-clad Mel Gibson from Braveheart showed up in Holly's dream. His accent wasn't quite how she remembered it from the movie; a little heavier and harder to understand. He pulled a face and waved towards her. "Come away from there," he said harshly, voice right in her ear. "You'll wake her up and scare the shit outta her."

Huh? She struggled to move, tried to ask Mel what he was talking about, and the vision blurred, darkened. Suddenly, she became acutely aware of her arms and legs, and an uncomfortable crick in her neck. It was black. She registered something rough against her cheek. Wait, was she asleep? Where was she? Were her eyes open?

Consciousness slammed into her and she remembered falling asleep on the arm of the couch. She was in the SAMCRO cabin, safely tucked away in the woods…but there were voices. She was no longer alone. She opened her eyes and was inches from a set of big brown orbs.

She couldn't help it, she screamed.

The man who'd been kneeling in front of her leapt backwards at her outburst, nearly toppling over the coffee table. Holly scrambled to the other end of the couch, all the while registering his dusky copper skin, Mohawk and the bold tattoos running down either side of it. She froze, hand over her galloping heart, and did a quick sweep of his t-shirt and SOA cut, dark, baggy jeans. He was righting himself, adjusting his cut and trying not to look as freaked as he was after her little outburst.

"You," she huffed, finally recognizing him as one of the Sons. "You're that guy…what's his name."

"You mean idiot," Mel said from beside her. She jumped again, swiveling her head around and realized that it wasn't Braveheart, but Jax's dark-haired friend with the scars who was always wearing shades.

"Juice," Mohawk supplied, sitting down on the travel trunk coffee table a little dejectedly.

Holly nodded, still freaked. She turned back to the Scot. "That makes you…sorry, I can't remember…something with a 'C'?"

"Aye, not too far off, darlin'," he sighed, sitting down next to her. "Chibs."

"Okay…" Holly scooted back the other way, only to realize that she was getting closer to Juice. She swapped a look between them. If she had to elbow one of them in the gut and run, she would take her chances with Mohawk kid; he had this startled, lost puppy look about him. Scarface worried her a bit more. "Did Jax send you guys?" she asked warily.

Juice nodded. "Wanted us to check in."

"ATF's been sniffing around the clubhouse," Chibs said. "Jackie-boy was worried they might know you were here."

"Plus, she got to Tig, so who knows-," Juice was cut off as one of the sofa pillows connected with the side of his head. He made a face and shot a look to Chibs.

"What do you mean she got to Tig?" Holly blurted, unable to keep the question bottled up.

"Nice, Juicy," Chibs sighed. "You see what you've done?"

"Stahl? What did she want with him? Did she arrest him? I swear, I didn't tell that bitch anything-,"

"Calm down, kiddo, it's alright," Chibs assured. "She was just lookin' to rattle his cage a bit."

"Mission accomplished," Juice muttered. "He was a fucking basket case when he came back to the clubhouse." He looked down at his boots when he got another scowl from the Scotsman.

The fear started somewhere in Holly's mind and rippled down through the rest of her body. "Did…did she tell him that…I'm still alive?" she asked, panic welling up in her throat.

Chibs and Juice shared a look.

"Oh God, she did, didn't she?" Holly cupped her hands and put them over her mouth as she started to hyperventilate. "Jesus, are you guys here to, you know, shut me up?"

"What, like kill you?" Juice looked horrified at the thought. "Dude, no way." Then he shot a glance toward Chibs. "We're not, right?" he asked quietly.

"NO," Chibs said. "Stop your little diva fit," he ordered, pulling Holly's hands away from her face.

"I'm not a diva," she said with a sharp look. "I think I've got every reason to be more than a little fucking upset right now."

"Hey, hey, don't get flustered, I didn't mean it," Chibs sighed.

"I'm sorry," she sighed and rubbed at the headache at her temples. "I just…I know what happens to rats in your world and I'm not sure you guys believe me."

"Did you tell Stahl anything she could use against us?"

"No!"

He shrugged. "Then nobody gives a shit." His face softened. "We ain't gonna let anything happen, Jackie-boy and me, we're not about that, alright?"

She tried to gauge his expression and finally nodded, satisfied.

"Go get some sleep," Chibs waved towards the back hall and the bedroom. "I gotta head back, but Juice'll stay for a bit."

Holly gave the Mohawked biker a dubious look and he lifted the hem of his t-shirt to reveal the gun jammed in his waistband.

"I gotcha covered," he assured.

Somehow, the thought of closing her eyes in the presence of two armed Sons wasn't the most comforting. But when she flopped down on the creaky old bed in the back, even the musty smell of the sheets couldn't keep her head off the pillow. She was asleep in a matter of seconds.

***

To his surprise, Jax had called him, wanted to have a sit-down somewhere public where no one would be suspicious and no other brothers would be involved. Of all the bars in Charming, Rodney's was the loudest, the smallest, and the one most populated by truckers and wannabe cowboys. They wouldn't run into Nords or Sons that way.

Tig backed his bike in along the front sidewalk and dodged a drunk couple wrapped around one another in the entranceway. They were kissing and laughing that high, reeling laughter of people no longer aware of how loud they were. Tig was not shy about knocking the guy a good thump on the shoulder as he slipped through the door.

The interior was crawling with every honky-tonkin' type in town, dancing and drinking and arm wrestling and laughing too loudly over the George Strait song blasting out of the speakers set up behind the bar. The majority of the place was devoted to dance floor, the walls lined with booths and the bar set up along the front, elevated off the dance floor on built-up hardwood so Neil could keep tabs on who needed a cab and who needed to get the hell out before they started a fight. Everything was bathed in smoke and green-hued light from the glass lamps on the ceiling.

He found Jax in a corner booth, his back to the wall, watching the raucous country folk with disinterest. He jerked a nod when he spotted Tig and the Sgt at Arms joined him reluctantly.

Tig made sure his walk was calm, confident and anything but hurried to get to the VP. Jax could just squirm his little blonde ass off. He reached the table and stood beside it for a moment, wrestling his fury into something manageable behind his calm façade. Stahl had pulled on his puppet strings good and hard, hoping he might finally be the one to dance. Bitch needed to research a little better.

"We need to talk," Jax said when the silence reached a peak in its awkwardness. He rolled the last bit of his smoke between his fingers and stared up at Tig from under the brim of his Reaper Crew hat. He looked worried.

Tig shrugged and slid into the booth, worked his shoulders around once, loosening them up in case he had to throw a punch or two. "So talk," he kept his voice light, unassuming. He hardened his eyes into what he'd dubbed his 'prison face' and just sat, one hand on the table, the other on his belt buckle, a breath away from his knife.

Jax frowned. He had expected yelling or throwing things, definitely a continuation of the smack down they'd started the night before Donna's funeral. Instead, he was met by this perfect, calculated calm. It was more worrisome than the alternative.

He took the final drag off his cigarette and started on the exhale; spelling out the details of his plan.

***

The pounding woke Holly. At first she thought it was another dream gone vivid, but when she scrambled up into a kneeling position on the bed, she realized that it was very real and very loud, coming from the front room. She took a moment to let her surroundings sink in. Rough pine walls, tangled, musty flannel sheets, deer head above the bed. Cabin. She remembered her earlier company and climbed out of bed as the pounding continued.

The lights were still on in the "living room", Juice passed out and snoring across the sofa. The TV was on, some infomercial, she figured it must be well past two in the morning.

The sounds were coming from the front door, and a quick look showed a dark silhouette framed in the glasswork. "Shit!" she muttered. She went to the sofa and slapped Juice lightly on the cheek. "Wake up!" she hissed. "Juice!"

He snorted and popped an eye open. "Wha…?"

"Somebody's here!"

He jerked upright at that, eyes blinking into focus as he registered the angry pounding on the door. "Holy shit," he said sleepily, stifling a yawn as he got to his feet. He put a hand on the gun in his waistband. "Go back to the bedroom," he told her, giving her a look that was probably as severe as he was capable.

Under ordinary circumstances, she would have kicked him in the shin and told him to fuck off, she didn't take orders anymore. But being as there was a possible mad man at the door and she didn't know how to shoot, she nodded and did as told. She waited, just inside the bedroom, the side of her face pressed against the rough wood doorframe.

"Shit, man," she heard Juice mutter as the door squealed open. "You're not-," the rest of his statement turned into sort of an _oomph! _followed by the clomp of boots on the hardwood.

"Where is she?"

Holly brought a hand up to cover her gasp. She knew that voice. It had been in her ear countless nights, cursing in satisfaction, telling her how good she fucked.

"Dude-," Juice started to protest.

"I _know _she's here, drop the idiot act. I talked to…_Jax_," he sneered the name.

The last thing she wanted was to come face to face with him this soon, but she was starting to get a little fearful of Juice's chances of keeping him from tearing the cabin apart out there alone. Holly took a deep breath, stilled her quivering hands, and stepped out into the living room.

Tig stood behind the couch, arms held out to the side as he whirled around, looking for her. When he turned and his eyes stumbled across her, she gasped. The look on his face was pure, feral rage; eyes shooting lightening.

He froze for a second and they just stared at each other.

Holly's heart started thundering against her breastbone, like even if she was too dumb to move, it was going to make an escape.

Tig finally broke the silence. "Juice. Go."

Juice worked his mouth around, trying to form some sort of protest.

Tig shot him a glare. "Wait out in the yard. Go."

He went and then they were alone. Silence descended, heavy and furious, the glimmer in Tig's eyes not one of remembrance or happiness. He was still for so long that when he finally came striding around the couch, it surprised Holly and she jumped a bit.

He was in front of her before she could move and knocked off the cap she still wore with a flick of two fingers under the brim. She gasped, startled, and he put a not-so-gentle hand on her chin, turning her head first one way and then the other, eyes narrowed as he studied her. His thumb grazed the little scar at the corner of her mouth and a new thrill raced down her spine, one that brought fire swirling in her belly.

He grunted something she couldn't understand, let go of her face, only to step in closer. His hands were on her tits, squeezing, massaging so hard it nearly hurt. Then he snorted and stepped away, turning sideways and wiping a hand down his face. "Yeah, it _is _you," he growled.

Holly was a jumbled mess of shock, fear, and arousal, a mix of emotions that quickly merged into anger at the coldness of his words. "Of course it's me-,"

"Shut up," he cut her off with a look. "I don't wanna hear shit you gotta say, just needed to see it for myself."

"Wha…" Holly felt her breath hitch in her chest and couldn't stop it. "Tig, I-,"

"You're DEAD!" he roared suddenly, closing the distance between them, all bowed up and ready for a fight. "You're dead, I saw it with my own goddamn eyes!"

That's how he wanted it, she could play along. It wouldn't be the first time a man had hurt her. "Then how the fuck do you explain this?" she got back in his face, sweeping a hand down alongside her torso.

"Stahl?!" he asked ignoring her. "Your precious little Jax sneaks you away and you show back up the same fucking day Stahl comes into town? Are you shitting me?"

"Tig-,"

"You rat on me? You tell her about all that shit I told you?" he grabbed her shoulders, fingers digging into her skin through her sweatshirt.

"I didn't tell her anything!" she finally spit back. "That's why I came here…"

"You came here," he dropped his voice to a near whisper and it was more frightening than the yelling. "Because you're fucking stupid. You're not supposed to know all the shit you know, you're supposed to be dead."

She knew it shouldn't have, but it stung, or tore rather, hearing that come out of his mouth. She didn't know what she had expected, how she thought this would go. Somehow her imagination had conjured up a shocked, but thankful Tig, one who might actually give a shit that she wasn't six feet under.

She twisted in his grip, but couldn't get away. "You think I ought to be dead, or you want me to be?" she asked quietly, meeting his stare without flinching.

He held her gaze a moment longer, features so tense she thought his face might crack. "Pick one," he said.

Then he released her roughly, shoving her away from him.

Holly watched him storm out and heard his bike come to life with an angry roar. Juice stepped back in a moment later, his eyebrows tucked right up under the front edge of his Mohawk. "You alright?"

She shook her head. She was pretty damn far from alright.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

It was well past last call in Charming and Tig needed a drink or ten. The clubhouse didn't exactly seem the best bet at the moment, not when he was visibly shaking like he was. So he went somewhere he rarely did anymore; home.

Over the years, the clubhouse had been much more attractive than any empty, two-bedroom dump three miles off the strip. He had a dorm room that he'd claimed as his own and there was limitless access to booze and pussy, satellite TV, pool games with his brothers. Gemma was always bringing them fruit and bakery bread and other food items they would never think to buy for themselves. Bobby cooked most nights. He'd held onto the little stucco ranch on Flagley because it was always an asset to have a place off the radar the club could use if need be. The guys crashed there on occasion if they needed to disappear for a few days.

The place looked worse than he remembered when he pulled up into the driveway that night. There were cracks shooting up from the concrete foundation and the patch of wall visible under the glow from the streetlamp was badly in need of painting. The lawn was a tangle of weeds and several Yucca plants that had shed their spikes for three consecutive years and the ground was littered with the sloughed vegetation.

The humidity of winter still lingered and the door off the carport had swelled and needed a good kick to get it open. He stepped right into the kitchen, shutting the door behind him. It smelled like moldy bread inside. A pyramid of dirty dishes sat beside the sink, the faucet dripped, its _plunk-plunk-plunk _seeming rude in the silence. He flipped on the lights, half expecting them not to work, and went straight to the cabinet above the stove. The liquor supply was dwindling, but there was Cuervo and McClelland's up there, courtesy of Chibs no doubt. He rummaged around and pulled down the Johnnie Walker Red and a glass. He settled on the sagging sofa in the living room and prepared to get shit-faced.

The images and the voices returned like clockwork. The most vivid of which was dead Donna.

Holly being dead sort of evened things out in his mind. It wasn't as if he'd _killed _Donna then, death just followed him around, reaching out and tapping people; his own personal reaper. Holly had died and he'd been trying to _help _her; he wasn't a killer, just cursed.

But Holly wasn't dead. Donna was dead. Because he'd emptied a clip into the back of her head.

He twisted the cap off his Johnnie Walker and set the glass on the couch beside him, he wouldn't need it tonight.

***

"_I'll fly away, fly away, oh glory, I'll fly away…"_

Jax could hear Tara's soft singing from Abel's room as he closed and locked the front door behind him. She never breathed a word of God or religion to him, but when she sang the baby to sleep, the old hymns always seemed to find a way to her lips.

He made his way softly down the hall and leaned up against the doorjamb of the baby's room, just watching the two of them together. Tara walked a slow circle in front of the crib, bouncing Able ever-so –lightly in her arms, smiling down at him as she sang. She looked up, a little startled when she finally noticed his presence. "Oh, I didn't hear you come in."

"I didn't want to disturb you guys," he said with a tired smile.

She nodded. "He was a little colicky after dinner." She flashed him a concerned look. "You okay? Rest of your day alright?"

"Yeah," he sighed, stepping into the room. "Just long. Stahl got to Tig so I had to tell him about Holly."

Her eyes widened.

"It'll be okay, he's worked up but he knows I'm right."

Tara snorted and returned her attention to the baby. "Yeah, cause that's happened before."

"I have a plan," he justified. "He may hate my ass but he's not so stupid he'll mess this up."

***

At 7:30 the next morning, Deputy Chief David Hale found his desk occupied. Stahl had a cup of coffee and some sort of breakfast pastry and was rolling little bits of icing off her fingers as she mulled over the documents spread before her.

Hale's willingness to cooperate with her had died along with Donna Winston four months ago. He'd been too caught up in his desire to finally rid the town of SAMCRO that he hadn't realized the treachery of her use until it was too late and someone he'd gone to high school with was dead. The Sons were, as he'd said to Clay, white trash thugs, but they were Charming staples. They deserved to be brought to justice, but not to be ripped apart by the Feds.

She'd told him about some backdoor method of getting to the club when she'd called a few days before. She said she'd landed on some intel that would have the club scrambling, get them all so stirred up that they'd turn on each other. Somebody was bound to make the RICO charges stick after she dropped the bomb on them.

"Got a confession yet?" he asked tightly, walking around the desk so he could face her.

"Soon enough," she said, glancing up with a smirk. "Scone?" she asked, gesturing toward the pastry.

He couldn't keep his scowl in check. "Who is it this time?"

She cocked her head, playing dumb.

"Which poor innocent fool have you roped into your scheme this time?"

One corner of her mouth pulled in a half smile. "Oh, is somebody feeling left out?"

"I'm serious," he said, a growl to his voice. "You can't just-,"

"Jeez, Deputy Chief Stick up Your Ass," she muttered with an eye roll. "Nobody you know," she said, extending a blown up photo copy of a driver's license photo.

Hale took it from her with another scowl and did a quick scan of the pixie-faced brunette in the picture. "Holly Jessup," he read aloud. "This address says Lodi."

Stahl nodded. "Yeah, Lodi. So I'm guessing she's not on that list of unattainable biker chicks you pine over."

He ignored the little stab. "How's she connected to SAMCRO?"

Stahl smiled. She'd finally piqued his curiosity. "She was just some little bartender with an abusive daddy, a daddy who didn't take too kindly to her fucking the Sons' Sergeant at Arms."

"This girl was with Tig??" Hale looked from Stahl to the girl's picture with a mix of shock and disgust.

"Carl Jessup attacked his daughter and then he wound up dead. Guess who was in the house when the paramedics came to pick up the girl."

Hale sighed as she continued. "Winston, Teller, and Trager. That gets three of the shitheads involved in a present day crime."

"I know Jax," Hale said with a frown. "If the girl was attacked, her dad was gunned down to defend her. Doesn't make it right, but it's not exactly cold blooded murder."

Stahl shrugged. "Not my problem. Jax had the girl whisked off to Colorado and then he told his _brothers _that she was dead."

He frowned.

"You can imagine the shock," she said with a wicked grin. She pulled the photo from his hands and took a sip of coffee. "I've got some work to do," she said dismissively.

She was staring at the picture of Holly as Hale strutted out. She frowned. "What I still don't get," she muttered ", is why these little sluts want anything to do with a bunch of scruffy, dumbass bikers."

***

When Tig came to, the light from the front windows was at his back, highlighting the dust bunny farm under the sofa. Somehow, he'd ended up on the floor. He blinked his gritty eyes and craned a stiff neck. He spotted the Johnnie Walker on its side, the remaining liquor soaking the carpet.

"Fuck," he muttered, forcing himself up. His head hurt beyond words, and he tottered a bit on his way to the bathroom. But when he cupped cold water from under the tap and splashed his face, several things became oddly clear in his mind. For starters, Jax's plan revealed itself as shit in the harsh, drunken daylight. He glared at his reflection. Time to start thinking for himself.

_Nothing but a goddamn killer, Tig _that old familiar voice echoed inside his fuzzy head.

Not today he wasn't.

***

Sleep came to Holly in fitful stops and starts. She kept replaying the scene with Tig over and over in her mind. She hadn't realized that there was this hollow, empty spot inside her that desperately hungered for him until she'd seen him. Emotions she didn't even know she possessed had assaulted her. And he'd been rough, cold, even downright cruel to her. Months ago, when she'd started whatever it was she had with him, she'd told herself that it was just a means to an end, a sense of shelter. She would never ask him for anything.

But now, watching the morning sun come streaming through the curtains, she physically ached. Sighing, she forced herself out of bed and rummaged through her duffel for some fresh clothes. She selected a ratty pair of jeans, white tank and flannel overshirt, and crossed the narrow hall to the bathroom.

A hot shower seemed to freshen her, but when she swiped a hand through the fog on the mirror, she was startled by her pale, ghostly reflection. With her wet hair, she looked like a homeless person, gaunt face and empty eyes. Frowning, she fumbled through her bag for some makeup that might improve her appearance.

Thirty minutes later, she was as primped as possible and went out into the main living area of the cabin in search of Juice. Instead, she found the strawberry-blonde who'd been boxing the night of her attack. He was lanky, very cute but very young and a little less confident in his physical capabilities than the other Sons. Unlike the older club members, he lacked the swagger and self-assured prowess of a man used to living outside the law and getting away with it. Holly had trouble believing he was biker.

He was leaned up against the left side of the galley kitchen, tapping at the top of a toaster with a fork.

"Trying to electrocute yourself?" Holly asked, leaning up against the doorframe.

He jerked, looking like she must have the night before. "Oh…um…sorry, did I wake you up?"

She waved away his politeness. "Nah. I was up all night too worried you guys might rethink the whole killing me thing."

He gave her a funny look.

"Forget it," she sighed. "What happened to Juice?"

"Clay needed him so Jax sent me up," he said, returning to his electrocution task. "I'm supposed to escort you into town after breakfast."

"Why?" she was instantly wary and folded her arms.

"He thinks you'll be safer at Tara's house. You know, don't stay anywhere too long."

She nodded, sighing. Jax obviously thought that hiding her in plain sight would be a little more clever, and not to mention easier to keep tabs on her. She didn't like the idea, but she was the one who'd chosen to come back to Charming. She couldn't very well protest.

"Alright," she sighed. "Didn't catch your name."

"Half-Sack," he supplied without even a hint of a grin.

"I don't wanna know," she held up a hand as she turned away.

"Hey, you want breakfast?" he asked her retreating form. "I'm making Eggos."

"No thanks, I don't eat anymore."

***

Holly gathered together her meager belongings while Half-Sack polished off his Eggos in a very loud manner that reminded her just how violently her stomach was growling. She tossed the duffel in the backseat of her Camaro and he swung a leg over his white Harley while she turned around in the gravel drive.

The road out of the wilderness was far less frightening in the bright morning light, but several turns revealed steep drop-offs she hadn't noticed before. A person could pull a Thelma & Louise if she weren't careful on the narrow, winding road.

Once out on the main road, Half-Sack passed her and took the lead role since she had no idea how to get to Tara's house from here. She didn't even know she had a house, just assumed she lived with Jax.

They'd gone about fifteen miles and were nearing the Charming border when Holly spotted a motorcycle coming at them from the opposite direction. The bike was moving fast and Half-Sack dropped the two-fingered biker wave as if he recognized the other rider.

Then the other bike dipped and came to a sliding halt in the wrong lane, causing Half-Sack to do the same. Holly gasped and stomped on the brake, barely managing to get the Camaro locked down in time.

The strange rider was already off his bike, taking off his helmet. As he strode past a freaked Half-Sack, Holly recognized him at once and emotion flooded her system. She prayed her cheeks didn't flush with anger and hurt as Tig came up to the driver's side window and rapped on it sharply. "Roll it down," he ordered, voice muffled through the glass.

She cranked it down but refused to look at him as he leaned down.

"You've got a new escort," he said without preamble. "Change of plans."

She shot him a glance from the corner of her eye, a little surprised that his face wasn't quite as impassive as the night before. "I'm supposed to go with him," she nodded through the windshield at Half-Sack. "Jax said."

"Jax can kiss my ass," Tig growled. "You're coming with me." He sighed when she didn't react. "Please," he said softly.

Holly glared at him, simultaneously trying to figure out his level of sincerity. It was hard to tell with his shades on. But a part of her that would always remember that it had been him who saved her, not Jax, did the thinking when she nodded.

"Alright," he said, thumping the edge of the window with a fist. He stalked back to his bike, shooting an order for Half-Sack to take off and give Jax some bullshit story about losing her along the way.

Holly felt her fingers tighten over the steering wheel as she watched his shoulders roll under his cut as he walked away. She bit her lip and tried to keep the forbidden thoughts away.

***

She was surprised when Tig turned in at the same diner where she had met Jax. It was right on the Charming line, just a blip on the screen along a stretch of dusty, empty highway. She hiked her purse up on her shoulder and met him at the door with trepidation. He wasn't a date kind of guy, so there was some ulterior motive at work here.

"What are we doing here?" she asked as he slid one earpiece of his shades into the breast pocket of his cut.

"I'm hungry," he shrugged, pushing through the door.

She debated waiting in her car, but decided it wouldn't be smart to be a sitting duck in case the Feds happened past. She followed Tig in and he took them to a booth in the middle of the line against the window.

It unnerved her a bit. Before, the closest they'd ever come to being together in public had been when she was behind the bar, and then it could be passed off as customer-bartender flirtation. Of course, that's all it had been to start with. Memories of the bar reminded her of that first night she'd finally spoken to him. It also reminded her that he'd saved her life not once, but twice. The thought shed some truth on his possible intentions and she felt some of the worry go out of her as the waitress came for their drink order.

"Ready for food too, darlin'," Tig told her, waving off the offered menu. "Two short stacks with bacon and black coffee." He leaned back in the booth, hands on the table, looking totally relaxed. She supposed the bloodshot, hangover eyes might have something to do with it. Still, she couldn't get over his mood change from last night.

She decided to push her luck. "Tig," she started with a deep breath. "I know you must be mad-,"

He frowned and it effectively cut her off. "Not gonna talk about it," he said.

"What if I _want _to talk about it?" she pushed. "I can't imagine how I would feel if this happened to me."

"If someone you'd fucked a few times came back from the dead?" he asked, firing her a stone look from across the booth.

That was cold, and she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth to hold back the hurt remark she wanted to spit at him. _Asshole _she thought instead. "You know, if you didn't give a shit, you wouldn't have come last night. We wouldn't be sitting here now," she said tersely.

He shrugged. "Maybe I'm just trying to keep ATF off the club, maybe I'm making sure you don't rat me out and get my ass tossed back in jail. It's in my own self-interest, sweetheart."

"That cold as ice shit didn't work four months ago and it doesn't work now," she challenged, lifting her chin defiantly. She took a deep breath, hoping her confidence wasn't foolish. "You wanna shut me up, go ahead and kill me now."

"Maybe I will," he said, but his heart wasn't in the comment. He glanced out the window, watching the late brunch crowd mill about the parking lot.

Holly gave up. She folded her arms across the table and rested her forehead on them. She was still sleepy. She hadn't had a solid night's sleep in…well…a long time, and for some reason, being around him had her limbs feeling all loose and ready for bed. She figured it was stupid that of all people, he was the one she felt the most comfortable around, so at ease she could just fall asleep in a diner.

Something nudged her elbow and she looked up to see their waitress trying to slide a plate under her nose. "Oh no, that's his," she pointed at Tig, then frowned when she realized he already had a plate. The waitress shot him a curious look.

"Wait, you ordered two?" Holly asked.

"Um, yeah," Tig left out the 'duh', but it was heavily implied. He motioned for the waitress to set the food in front of Holly and she did so with a roll of shadowed eyes.

Holly alternated glances between the steaming, fluffy stack of pancakes and Tig, who was already digging into his. "I didn't want anything," she said, pushing the plate towards him.

He pushed it back. "Eat." It was an order.

She shook her head. "I don't want to."

Tig sighed heavily and set down his fork. "When was the last time you ate something besides a goddamn diet pill?"

"I'm not dieting."

"Then why the fuck do you look like you just escaped from Auschwitz?"

Holly felt heat creep up her neck. She looked at the food again and had to admit that it looked and smelled amazing. The pancakes had just come off the griddle, all fluffy, but with crisp edges. The bacon was almost burnt, just like she had always liked it. She made a move for her silverware but paused, hand suspended in mid air.

Tig slid the syrup across to her. "Look, you're already skinny as shit," he said. "If you don't start eating, your tits might reabsorb or something, and that'd be a crying shame."

She scowled at him but pulled out her fork. She took her time drizzling syrup over the pancakes, painfully aware that he had stopped all pretenses of eating and was watching her. She cut off a small bite with the edge of her fork and held it up to her mouth. "Happy?" she grumbled, popping it in.

It took her about two seconds to realize that she was ravenous and these roadside diner pancakes might be the best thing she'd ever tasted. She ate every bite, and in short order, staring at her plate the whole time because she was a little embarrassed that she was inhaling the food. After she'd polished off the last bit of bacon, she pushed the plate away and wrapped her hands around the warm coffee mug. She hadn't been truly full since the attack, and now her sleepiness had doubled. Warm and not hungry, sitting in the patch of sun coming through the plate glass window, she almost forgot the circumstances and the company of her morning. She stared out at nothing, content just to sit.

"You good or do you need more?" Tig finally asked, bringing her out of her trance.

She startled, but recovered quickly. "No, I'm good," she said, ghosting a hand over her stomach for emphasis. She glanced at him curiously, taking note of the way the incoming sunlight put silver flecks in his eyes. His hair was still dark, but there was a dusting of gray mixed in with the stubble along his jaw. She liked it. She'd never been one for the young, pretty-boy types like Jax. She'd inherited her small, feminine features from her father and hence always wanted her men to look like men, all rough and nowhere near pretty. She thought about telling him that but decided that was a road he wouldn't want to go down. And he thought she had some sort of a thing for Jax obviously. Let the asshole worry if he wanted to.

"Why, after last night, are you being nice to me this morning?"

He snorted. "I'm not being nice."

"Yes you are – nice for you anyway. That old heart trying to shine through again?"

She thought he would frown but he looked away, shaking his head slightly. "What happened to you…" he said quietly. "That shouldn't happen to anyone. I'm sorry, Hol. Really."

"You, of all people, don't have to apologize."

"Yeah I do," he gave her a stern look.

She nodded. She had seen this from him before, his pent-up guilt coming to a head. She understood.

He dug a ten out of his cut and tossed it on the table. "Let's go."

***

The rest of the trip was short. Tig led her to a run-down grey stucco house a few blocks off Main Street. The homes along this road had been in place for a long time, the trees having grown tall and thin over the countless years. None of the cars along the curb had been made before 1990 and dilapidated basketball goals and homemade street hockey nets were in every driveway. It was a lot like the neighborhood she'd lived in in Lodi. Outsiders would speed through, worried thugs lurked behind the overgrown shrubs, but someone like her recognized it for what it was; a place where those with minimal paychecks lived.

Tig pulled to the side of the driveway and waved for her to pull under the carport. He led her in through the side door and into a kitchen that had seen cleaner days.

"Where are we?" she asked, following him into the living room.

"My place, well, sorta. I don't exactly live here anymore."

She could tell. There were no pictures, no books or knick knacks. The furniture was sparse and shitty, the windows spattered here and there with bird droppings. A layer of dust and grime covered all the hard surfaces. There was an empty bottle of Johnnie Walker on the floor in front of the sofa.

"None of the suits know about this house," he explained. He'd been carrying her bag and chucked it unceremoniously on the floor of the first bedroom they came to. The bed was large, but less than inviting with its stained, blue comforter. She didn't suppose she deserved any better.

"Crash here for a few days until I can figure out what to do next," he said. He'd concluded his unexplained tour and now they both stood back in the kitchen. Tig ran a hand through his hair, looking distracted.

"Will you be here?" she asked quietly.

He scowled at her. "No, don't ask shit like that." Then he shook his head. "Shit, Holly…why _do _you ask shit like that? Huh? What does it get you?"

She sucked on her lip again, not able to say that she kept hoping he'd touch her, that she was so damn lonely that it actually hurt. That even though she'd been hundreds of miles away in Denver and had offers from nice, sweet, innocent boys she hadn't been able to forget him. She couldn't say that he was quite possibly the only man sick enough to not care that she was damaged goods.

Then he surprised her. "Can…can I ask you something?"

He had whispered the words and wasn't looking at her so she wasn't sure she'd heard correctly. "Sure."

His eyes met hers and they were almost…pained. "Why Jax? Why'd you go to him first? After-,"

"Because I didn't want to get you mixed up in things," she said quickly, putting a hand on his arm. "He said months ago that it would be better if everyone thought I was dead."

He blinked but it didn't change the intensity of his stare.

"I didn't want to come back and…hurt you," she said softly.

"Hurt me?" he sounded mad, a little offended.

"I-,"

He put his hands on her hips and walked her back until her ass bumped into the counter, too fast for her to react. He loomed over her, pushed against her, his belt buckle digging into her stomach through her shirt. He dipped his head and she shivered when she felt his lips on her ear. "_You _could never hurt _me_," his voice was almost a growl. "Don't get any ideas about coming in and saving me," he told her, moving his lips to her neck and nipping gently. "I can tell right now that you'd fuck me if I asked…" he stepped back abruptly and Holly put her arms around her middle, suddenly chilled without his warm body against hers.

"This isn't me being the nice guy," he told her, going cold again. "And this isn't you playing house. I'm keeping both our asses out of the goddamn ATF sinkhole. But you have to trust me on this. Fuck Jax. Fuck his playing it strait bullshit."

She frowned.

"You wanna walk away from this, you'll do things my way, Holly."

She looked at him, watched the way his chest rose and fell too rapidly, the way his hands kept curling into fists. He thought he was fooling her, but he did a better job of fooling himself. Either way, she trusted him with her life, why not trust him with her freedom?

"Okay," she said softly. "How does this work?"

"You stay here and don't go into town."

She sighed, but nodded. "Sure."

Tig nodded and some of the tension left his face. "You see anything suspicious, you call, you still have my number?"

She nodded.

"'Kay. Good girl." He put his hand on the back of her neck and kissed her forehead in an odd and contradictory show of affection. He frowned afterwards like he hadn't meant to do it.

"Oh, and eat something for Christ's sake," he said as he headed for the door.

Holly sighed and leaned back against the counter. "Probably _would_ be better off dead," she muttered to herself.

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Whoo hoo! I'm done with finals!! I don't think I've ever been so glad for Christmas break. Hopefully I can write more, having a bit of writer's block though. This story just doesn't sit right in my head. I'm starting to regret starting it a bit…Holly is so NOT me so I've been stumbling with her. Oh well. They always say to write through the block, makes you better and blah blah blah.**

**Oh, additional disclaimer; I don't actually think Juice is a retard. HS either. I love them both. But when I write from Jax or Tig or, hell, anyone's perspective, I tend to poke fun. No harm intended. **

* * *

"What do you mean you lost her?" Jax was having an extremely hard time not snapping the Prospect in half.

Half-Sack squirmed, rubbing his palms together and shifting backward, risking toppling back over his bike if he took another step. "I, um…she just…there was this red light, you know? And I sorta took off too fast…she…um…"

Jax knew he was lying. This was worse than his normal twitching. He flicked away his cigarette and closed the gap, leaning down in his face. "You've got about three seconds to spill it or you'll wish you'd lost both nuts in Iraq."

Half-Sack gulped visibly. He shot a look over Jax's shoulder that he followed, turning slightly. Tig was pulling in at the gate. "Are you shitting me?" Jax whirled on him again. "Tig?"

He nodded and gulped again. "I know you said-,"

"Forget it," Jax sighed. He left the Prospect stuttering and strode across the parking lot. Tig was just backing his bike in alongside the others. This was going to get ugly.

***

Tig felt this sick smile of satisfaction creep across his face as the VP stalked toward him. Jax had this exaggerated pimp walk when he was mad, just one of the many things that irked Tig about the blonde. _Little punk-ass _he thought, _thinks he can just do what he wants with my woman…Holy shit! My woman? What the fuck's wrong with me? Losing your edge, Tigger…_

"The fuck's the matter with you?" Jax demanded, drawing to a halt at the front end of his bike.

Tig took off his helmet, redid the buckle, hung it off his handle bars, not meeting Jax's seething glare. He shrugged.

"Do you not realize," the VP's voice attained that low, tense edge he used when he couldn't believe that someone wasn't listening to him ", that you are about to seriously fuck up the peace I've tried to get for Ope?"

Tig did realize. It was one of the sticking points in his plan. Four months ago, Opie had found out the truth about Donna, and now Clay was possibly the only one who didn't know that Ope knew. Jax had been able to convince his friend that since Holly was dead too, the score was a little more even. Opie had existed in brooding silence for the last few months, throwing himself into the club, but not truly being there for his brothers. He looked like an empty shell, but was really a ticking time bomb. Ready to go off in five…four…three…

"I can handle Opie," Tig said rigidly. "This isn't your problem anymore."

***

Gemma gapped the blinds apart with her fingers and frowned out at the scene in the parking lot. Jax and Tig seemed to be having another pissing contest of sorts. "What's up with them?" she asked without turning.

Juice popped up from behind the desk, partway through installing the new printer software on the ancient desktop. "Who?"

The Queen sighed and gestured for him to join her at the window.

When he caught sight of Jax and Tig he sucked in a loud breath, instantly regretting it as Gemma shot him a look. "Shit," he muttered.

She turned sideways. "Care to explain that?"

_Hell no. _"You know…just guy stuff," he said lamely.

She wasn't convinced, but let it slide. He looked like he might start stuttering like Half-Sack if she pressed the issue. And she knew Juice; slightly retarded, but loyal to no end. He wouldn't talk about his brothers, not even to one of their mothers.

She shook her head as she returned her gaze outside. Her son was becoming more and more like his father every day.

***

Tig was saved any further angry looks and lip curls as Clay exited the clubhouse. The President had called an unscheduled, mid-afternoon church meeting in light of the Stahl developments, one in which Tig planned to drop the mother of all bombs. He wouldn't be shocked if guns were pulled on him at once, from both ends of the table possibly.

"Let's go, kids," Clay called impatiently. "Find Juice wherever the hell he went."

Tig nodded his acknowledgement and climbed off his bike. Jax stopped him with a raised hand.

"What the hell are you smiling at, man?"

"I'm just so fucking happy," Tig sneered, knocking shoulders with him accidently on purpose as he stepped around him.

Jax bowed up. "You wanna throw down again? I'm ready, let's do this."

Tig paused, going eerily still. "Last time…" meaning the fight before Donna's funeral, the one in which Jax had knocked the holy hell out of him. "You think you're really that good, _VP_?" He stepped closer, using his height to his advantage as he looked down his nose at the blonde. "I let you win. That shit won't happen again. That's a promise."

Clay was looking at him when he turned back to the clubhouse, his hands held out to the side in a 'what the fuck did you two do now' expression. Tig nudged his shades up with a knuckle. He could imagine the look on Jax's face behind him. As poorly as things were about to turn out, he took some comfort in knowing he'd screwed with the little prince's plans. He grinned.

***

It didn't take long for the walls of the little house to start closing in on Holly. She watched TV for a bit, but there seemed to be something wrong with the dish and reception was spotty on the non-network channels. She went on a scavenger hunt for something, anything to keep her mind busy. A book. A magazine. She finally stumbled across a half-empty bottle of Lysol under the sink and after locating a sponge decided that cleaning was better than sitting and fretting.

She started in the kitchen; washed off the dishes and stowed them away, then wiped down the counters, the cabinet faces, the inside of the microwave. She mopped on her hands and knees and by that time the sponge was toast.

She surveyed her work, but then frowned when she realized that she wouldn't be able to get to the bathroom without more cleaning supplies. Her cell phone said it was just a little after three. She plunked down in a kitchen chair and leaned on the table. She wondered how long she'd have to stay here. Wondered if Tig might come back that evening. He had told her not to get her hopes up…actually, he'd told her not to ask 'shit like that'. She rested her head on her folded arms and cursed her father. If not for him, maybe she wouldn't have become so attached to someone who was completely incapable of emotion.

***

A palpable tension joined the wreaths of cigarette smoke around the table. Jax glared at Tig. Tig glared at Jax. Juice shifted in his chair and alternated quick looks between the head of the table and his folded hands. Chibs praised God he had his shades on and could pretend to look intense. Bobby was suspicious. And Clay just wanted to know what the fuck was going on.

He looked between his VP and Sergeant. "Something you two love birds wanna share?"

"No," they said in near perfect unison, startling one another.

Clay made a whatever face and swiveled his chair sideways, staring at the wall while he worked on his stogie. "So Stahl," he said heavily.

"Bitch is back in town," Bobby said with a shrug. "What did she want with you, Tigger?"

Tig frowned and rubbed at the tension between his eyes with his thumb. He had every intention of spilling the beans, but suddenly, here in the chapel, all eyes trained on him, he started to question the wisdom of his decision. He shrugged, mentally kicking himself for chickening out. "Aw…same old shit. Threatened me with past crimes and all that."

Bobby nodded. Juice and Chibs shared a quick look.

Tig made the mistake of glancing across the table and caught Jax's nod of approval. _Good boy _he seemed to say. _Keep it up and there's some Alpo in it for you. _

His nostrils flared with renewed anger. Jax was the reason they were all in this mess in the first place. His whole act of chivalry gone wrong now stood the club in serious danger of another ATF raid. "Actually," he started, several heads snapping in his direction. Only Clay, Bobby, Opie and Piney didn't know about Holly's 'resurrection'. The old man wasn't here, one less to worry about. "She _did _have some interesting news."

"Man, I swear to God-," Jax made a move across the table.

Clay stopped him with an outstretched hand. "I wanna hear this," he said with a scowl of his own. "You haven't exactly been all here," he said to Tig. "What's she got on you?"

"Not just me, the whole goddamn club."

"And you failed to share that juicy little tidbit with me?"

"Stahl found the girl," Tig said flatly, earning distressed grumbles.

"What girl?" Clay asked.

"That bartender. The one I was fucking a few months back."

Juice groaned and put his head down on the table.

"The dead one?"

Tig inhaled slowly before answering. "She's not dead."

The room fell painfully silent.

"_What_?" Clay finally asked.

The creak of a chair sounded from further down the table. Opie.

***

Holly hadn't intended to fall asleep, but realized she had when the door leading out to the carport opened with a pop and a squeak. She bolted upright, swiping at her cloudy eyes, scanning the room for some sort of weapon, and then recognized Tig.

"Hey…" she started and then clamped her lips together when the door slammed back into place. Night had fallen, she'd obviously been asleep for hours, and his eyes flared in the darkened room.

Tig flipped on the harsh overhead light, temporarily blinding her, and went to the fridge. He came back with a beer and tossed its cap onto the table. It clattered and rolled on its edges before settling noisily. Holly sat in silence, watching the agitated curl of his upper lip as he pulled down half of the Budweiser in one gulp and then stared at the bottle like he might want to break it. He sniffed and frowned. "It smells like…"

"Lysol," she supplied. "I cleaned."

Tig scowled. "You shouldn't have done that."

"Sorry," she muttered. "I didn't mean to 'play house'." She let her forehead slump forward onto the table again. Why the hell was she so tired? It was really starting to piss her off.

"Hey," he said, softer than expected.

Holly rolled her head to the side and glanced at him with one eye.

His face was stone. "You're gonna have to come to the clubhouse with me in the morning."

She sat bolt upright. "W-what? But I-,"

"I told them."

Panic seized up her gut. "Tig! Are you insane? I thought you had a plan!"

"Telling them was the plan."

Holly couldn't sit still any longer and stood, going around to stand behind her chair and hold herself upright against it. Of all the things he could have said…"You told them?" she heard her own voice and didn't recognize it.

Tig was oddly placid. Resigned almost. "I had to tell them. Clay, hell, Bobby…everybody knew Stahl was after me for a reason." He was speaking to his beer bottle, voice flat. "I'm not Jax. I can't play it safe."

Holly thought she might be hyperventilating. "But…but…what are they gonna do? I mean, they'll think ATF got to me…"

"I lied to my brothers, Holly." He finally looked at her. "You _never _lie to your brothers. It's a patch-stripping offense."

"What are you saying? Are you gonna get kicked out of the club? Because of me?" Guilt spurred her heart into a faster pace. "Jesus, Tig."

Tig returned to staring at his bottle, rolling it between his hands. His eyelids were so low he almost looked as if he'd closed his eyes. "I don't know." He shrugged. "I don't know anything anymore."

Holly processed what he's said, understanding at last. "Tig," she sat again and scooted her chair closer to him. She put her hand on his forearm. "Is this about…Opie's wife?"

He jerked up, shrugged off her touch and rounded the table. "I'm not doing this," he growled, heading deeper into the house.

She sighed, hearing his boots fade down the hall. Part of her wanted to go after him. He was about the most emotionally constipated individual she'd ever met; not willing to admit to anything unless it was forced out of him. But if it was possible, he was in a darker place than he had been before. Her guilt deepened thinking that part of that was her fault. She'd popped back into Charming without warning, no doubt giving him the shock of the year.

But the only reason ATF had become involved was because she'd had to go into hiding. Because they all needed to think she was dead.

Holly rose and went after him. Her pulse raced in her ears as she prepped what she wanted to say. She was tired of being made to feel as if all this was her fault. It wasn't.

Tig was laying face down on the bed in what she supposed was the master bedroom.

"I'm sorry," she started and he didn't move. "I'm sorry this is getting you in trouble with the club, with the feds, but I won't take all the blame. I'm not exactly having a good time over here, you know."

He rolled over but didn't offer to get up. She could see and feel his eyes even in the shadowy room. "I'm tired of being treated like this," she continued. "I don't deserve it."

Tig _did _sit up at that, jerking upright so fast it startled her. The planes of his face hardened, giving him that frightening, sinister look. "Come here," he said, voice falsely patient.

Holly was flooded with a sudden warmth. Him, on a bed, the possibilities made her shiver. But caution lights were flashing in her mind. He wasn't after sex. That look on his face was purely pissed. She stepped forward, just out of reach.

He flicked a finger. Come closer.

She closed the distance, feeling her breath catch. Tig's hand came up and she thought he was reaching for her hand. She lifted her wrist for him…and then he grabbed a fistful of her flannel shirt and hauled her down to the bed, slamming her roughly on her back and then straddling her.

Holly gasped as he rolled over her, braced with his hands on either side of her head. He opened his mouth and no sound came out, so he closed it again. Holly waited, panic tickling her senses. He was furious. _He's going to kill me _she thought. _Right now, just get it over with._

And then he kissed her, if that's what you could call it. She felt his teeth on her bottom lip and opened her mouth obediently, letting his tongue in, absorbing the force of his lips against hers. She didn't fight, just rode the wave. His chest was pressed against hers, crushing her down into the mattress. She didn't care. Even violent contact was more welcome than the constant, empty loneliness that had plagued her for so long.

Holly flattened her palms against his shoulders and trailed them down his arms while he continued the assault on her mouth, registering the taut, strained vibrations of his muscles. He was so wired. Ready to kill someone…or fuck someone.

Her touch had been meant to soothe, but had the opposite than intended effect. Tig broke away, sucking in angry lungfuls of air and rolled off of her, flat on his back again.

She sat up, trembling. She couldn't seem to figure out what she kept doing so wrong. Before it had only taken a hint; biting her lip, twitching her hips, anything, and then he was all over her. Now the coldness had seeped into his sex practices as well.

His fingers closed around her wrist and she debated shying away. But he was gentler this time, staring tiredly up at the ceiling. He pulled her down beside him to rest in the crook between his arm and his side. Holly put a tentative hand on his chest and he made no move to shove her away. Slowly, she let the tension go out of her body. She was asleep within minutes.

***

Tig hated to admit it, but things in his head had reached a whole new point of chaos. It had started with the voices, then the hallucinations. He'd forced that all down to roil around in his gut after Holly died. He had learned his lesson. He knew what he was.

But now…Jesus, she wasn't dead? Had he actually saved someone? No, that was Jax. Always the good one. God knew he hadn't ever given the girl a reason to hold on to him, he'd used some of his best hard-ass lines on her. Then why did she so willingly come back? How could she care when he didn't? He didn't care…did he?

He had become two people and the dichotomy threatened him with insanity. The guilt, the rage, the self-loathing; all ingredients to the biggest meltdown anyone had ever seen. And yet somehow it was still all bottled up nice and tight. Eating at him. Breaking him.

He rolled his head to the side. Holly was asleep; lips slightly apart, eyes twitching under the lids as if she were dreaming. She didn't look healthy anymore. Too skinny. Pale. Blonde wasn't a good look for her.

She was the only one to have ever been on his side. He didn't get it.

"I'm sorry," Tig said softly, if only because he knew she couldn't hear him. Tomorrow he would make things right. With everyone.

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

**I'm not happy with this chapter, it's just sort of filler. But I thought it was time for Clay to redeem himself a little. Meh...still got damn writer's block.**

* * *

Jax bounced Abel over to his other hip as he stepped into the kitchen. Tara had a dry piece of toast clenched in her teeth, a bottle of orange juice under one arm, and was scrambling to heft her bag onto a shoulder. She knocked over the salt shaker on the table and mumbled a curse around the toast, flinging a pinch over her shoulder to ward off bad luck.

"Whoa," Jax tried to hold back a smile. "What's the rush?"

"I'm gonna be late for my shift," she said, finally pulling out the toast. She hurried over to him and stood on her tip-toes to give him and Abel quick kisses.

"Oh," Jax frowned, already a little guilty over what he was about to ask.

She arched a single dark brow. "What?"

"How long are you gonna be at work today?"

"Why, Jax? What's going on?"

"I was hoping you might be able to come by the clubhouse today. Things are gonna be rough and I don't really want you there…but I'm worried somebody might need patching up."

"_Might_ need patching up?"

Jax winced. "Yeah…"

***

Holly put her hands on the tiled wall of the shower and ducked her head under the spray. The hot water stung her face, carried shampoo into her eyes, and she wished it might just dissolve her away and take her down the drain. Today she was going to the clubhouse. Someone might as well give her a blindfold and a cigarette and set her up in front of a firing squad.

She'd been alone on the bed when she woke, still curled up as if she were wrapped around Tig. She had heard him banging around in the kitchen and decided to shower instead. It didn't look as if the fiberglass stall had been used in months, the black patches of mold in the grout long since caked into permanence. It didn't matter. Not like she was clean either.

Holly used every last drop of hot water and then just stood there once she'd turned off the spray. She shut her eyes, slicked her fake pale hair off her face, and silently wished she'd never left Colorado.

***

Tig hadn't been surprised by the knock on the back door. He had been surprised, however, to find Clay on the other side. He stood for a moment, hands on his hips, head dropped in deference to his President. The palpable awkwardness between them was undercut by regret and betrayal and a whole other slew of emotions that Tig had never classified in accordance to himself.

Clay finally sighed, a deep rattling noise that made him sound old and tired.

Tig knew, because Jax had revealed it to him, that Clay had put a hit on Holly. The night that all the shit went down, Clay had tried to have the bartender bumped off for reasons Tig understood and would never question. He wasn't Opie. He would never turn away from the club for an Old Lady, much less some bitch. But Clay's actions said he thought otherwise, and that hurt. He and Clay had always been on the same side when there was conflict, and Jax's little power play was no exception. Still, when the cancer in the club spread to encompass the two of them and had them scheming behind one another's backs, it was time for a change.

"I shouldn't have kept this quiet," Tig said, still not looking at the President. "I'm sorry, man."

"Hey," Clay shrugged. "Shit's been fucked up around here…I shoulda seen this coming…but…"

Tig glanced up for the first time.

"I gotta know your head's on straight. No more second guessing, no more guilty dead Donna shit-,"

"Absolutely," Tig said quickly, relieved. "I'm here. All the way, man."

"Good."

They hugged, hands clapping on leather, and things were, for the moment, okay.

"You know I gotta ask," Clay said, still serious but not so grave. "You're not stepping into Old Lady territory here, are you?"

Tig frowned. "Nah. You know I can't do that…it's just…"

Clay nodded. "I need to talk to her."

"I know."

***

Holly switched off her portable hair dryer and scrutinized her reflection. She hadn't eaten the day before, despite Tig's insistence that she do so, and she was pale. Makeup couldn't hide the dark rings under her eyes. She'd put on a plain black long-sleeved tee and yesterday's jeans. Her scar looked extra dark under the fluorescent bathroom lights. She frowned, not satisfied with what she saw, but flipped off the lights and headed out into the main part of the house. She thought she smelled coffee.

When she reached the end of the hall, she registered two distinct male voices in the living room. Holly paused, weighing the possibilities. It wasn't as if she could just hide all morning. Tig would eventually come looking for her and he might be less than happy if he had to drag her out of the bedroom. She stepped around the corner and froze.

Tig sat in the ratty La-Z-Boy, Clay Morrow across from him on the couch. Of all the people Holly didn't want to run into…

She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat and retreated a step. "Hey," Clay halted her with one word. "You and me gotta talk, little girl. Get in here."

She shot a glance to Tig for help but he was intently studying one of the many stains on the carpet. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Holly stepped fully into the room and came to stand a little to the side of where a coffee table should have fit in front of the couch. Tig rose and went to lean in the doorjamb, further distancing himself from her. She thought it unwise to take his abandoned seat however. Instead, she folded her arms and met the SAMCRO President's stare without flinching. She was scared shitless, but she would never show it. Weakness only invited violence.

Clay leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and looked up at her with a passive face. "Holly, right?"

She nodded and shifted her weight to her other foot. "I gotta tell ya, Holly, I don't like it when my guys get tangled up in shit that comes back to effect the club. And you, sweetcheeks, are affecting my club in a _major _way."

"I-," she started and Tig cleared his throat loudly. _Shut up. _

Clay arched his brows. "You done?" She nodded. "My VP and my Sergeant at Arms have assured me you're not a rat. That the truth?"

"Yes, sir."

"What kinda dirt does ATF have on you?"

"Nothing."

"You got prior arrests? Outstanding warrants? Dope stashed away?"

"No. I've never been in trouble with the law. Ever."

Clay frowned.

"Have Juice check her out," Tig said with a shrug, earning a sharp look from his boss. He shifted his gaze out toward the window.

"It was you guys," Holly said.

Clay returned his attention to her but didn't reprimand. She was encouraged.

"She threatened me with the club – said she would leak my betrayal to you guys and then you'd have me killed. Said wit pro was the only way to keep safe. Offered me my choice of anywhere if I would tell her what went down that night, rat on Tig, Jax and Opie."

"Goddamn bitch," Clay muttered, shaking his head. He fired a scowl up at Holly. "And you said…"

"Jack shit. No way I was gonna rat on someone who…" she trailed off, studied her hands, embarrassed.

"Who what?"

She pulled in a deep breath. "Who…saved my life. Twice."

Tig hissed his disapproval, clenching his jaw against whatever he wanted to say. Holly put a hand to her throat out of unconscious habit, remembering the feel of nearly being strangled.

Clay was looking between the two of them. "This guy?" he asked her, gesturing towards Tig.

Holly nodded.

A long silence descended. Holly kept glancing at Tig but he wouldn't look at her. Somehow, she'd messed up…again.

When the lack of sound became unbearable, she finally asked what she'd been wanting to this whole time. "What happens now? What are you guys gonna do to me?"

"Well," Clay sighed. "If you're not a rat," he looked to her for confirmation and she nodded for what felt like the hundredth time. "Then I suppose I can't very well off ya, huh?"

Holly was silent, hopeful.

"There are some things you need to understand, kid. This MC, SAMCRO, we conduct business on a whole different level. The women involved with us, they don't hear anything and they don't see anything, you get where I'm going with this?"

"Yes, sir."

"You don't _ever _interfere with club business, you keep that pretty little mouth shut unless a brother wants to put something in it, and you don't talk to suits. Not even local cops. Your skinny ass gets busted for something, you take the fall alone, there is no wit pro in the MC. Most important, once you come in, there's no getting out. Crow Eaters are protected only so long as they're loyal."

Crow Eater? She had no idea what that was, or why Tig was suddenly looking at her with this odd mix of anger and resignation on his face.

"You got all that?" Clay asked.

Holly extended a hand for him to shake. "Yes, sir."

The President was amused at her gesture, but accepted it. "Smart girl," he said appreciatively. "Let's keep it that way."

***

Stahl shuffled her paperwork together and slipped it all back into the file marked "Sons of Anarchy". She checked her keys, her gun, her shades, and hefted her soft-sided briefcase up over one shoulder.

Little Miss Holly had not acted as planned. Or rather, the Sons hadn't. The stink bomb she'd dropped on Charming was supposed to launch a catastrophic civil war of sorts. Her guys who'd been sitting on Teller-Morrow had reported that all was quiet on the biker front. Holly was nowhere to be heard or seen and Stahl was getting restless. And pissed. It was time to crank up the burner on the Sons.

When she stepped out into the bullpen, Agent Estevez was waiting on her. He fell into step beside her, always the eager beaver. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and was again struck by how not-Hispanic this guy was. White as Elmer's Glue. "Where's the Deputy Chief?" she asked, already bored with the exchange of words they were going to have.

"He's not here."

She paused. "What?"

Estevez shrugged. "Said he was heading out about half an hour ago."

"Whatever," she shook her head. "Round up some patrols, we need Charming PD on hand to make any arrests. And call Smith, tell him we're coming."

"Yes ma'am."

***

Clay headed for the garage, giving Holly and Tig time to collect her things before heading that way as well. It only took a handful of seconds for Holly to cram her meager belongings back into the duffel bag. Tig was still propped up in the doorway of the kitchen when she emerged from the bedroom, staring into the depths of his coffee mug.

She knew that he was looking for her to just keep her trap shut and head out to her car. But for some reason, she couldn't do that. He could be as stubborn and untouchable as he wanted, but she needed for him to know that she was once again in his debt.

"Thank you," Holly said, coming to a halt mere inches in front of him. "I won't get all mushy on you…but thank you. What you did for me this morning was…well, more than I deserve."

To her surprise, he grinned. The expression was flat and humorless though. "Yeah. Save your thanks for awhile, see if you still feel that way once you're a Sweetbutt."

"Sweetbutt?"

"Sweetbutt, Crow Eater, whore, professional cock sucker," he said, turning around. He sloshed the rest of his coffee out in the sink and slid the mug across the counter. It impacted the grimy tile backsplash with a soft _clink_.

Holly bowed up, feeling some of her old frustration with him return. "I'm nobody's whore. What? You think because of my _family history _I don't have some sort of standards?"

Tig started shaking his head before her words were complete. "Don't you get what just happened? You 'coming into the club', that's about being a club slut. You think Clay wants to keep you around for shits and giggles? Huh? You're gonna have to fuck your way to safety, Hol. Don't thank me for that…quit acting like I've done something good for you here."

The entire speech was delivered with such deadly calm that Holly was unsure if she'd actually heard correctly. "So…like a gang banger…literally?"

He turned away from her, pulling his cut off the back of a kitchen chair and sliding it on. "Don't tell me you're so stupid you thought this was some charity shit."

Holly felt something in her gut and took a moment to realize what it was; anger. For the first time since this whole nightmare had begun, she was pissed. "What, I'm supposed to just sleep with all your 'brothers', earn my keep? You're just gonna let that happen?"

He scowled, looking down at her as if she disgusted him. "You're not my Old Lady. It's not my problem."

But that was exactly the problem. She would never mean anything to him, just like she'd never meant anything to anybody. She pulled her keys out of her purse and slid her shades into place so he wouldn't read the shock and disappointment in her eyes. It was bad enough he didn't want her, best not have him laugh at her too.

***

Jax watched the way Opie's fingers moved too fast to be precise under the hood of the Lumina he was working on.

"What do you want me to say, Jax?" his voice was deceptively flat. "That I'm okay with all this? That it doesn't hurt like a goddamn piece of rebar through the chest?"

Jax sighed and scrubbed a hand down his chin. "Naw, bro…I know what this does to you."

His brother shot him a hard, disbelieving look.

"No, it never happened to me, but I _know, _Ope. And I also know you don't really wanna do what you just said you did."

"I've spent four months letting you and Chibs convince me that backlash would only take the whole club down…that Clay and Tig were suffering for what they did-,"

"They are," Jax said firmly. Truthfully, his old friend rage had started churning around in his head again, but he knew that it was just a kneejerk reaction this time. Just like Chibs had said, there was no justice here. Just loss, grief, and remembrance of things done wrong so that they might not be repeated in the future. Jax dropped his voice. "What would going after the girl do, huh? It won't bring Donna back, man."

Opie glanced out toward the parking lot. He was still enraged, but ashamed of what he'd been thinking.

"Holly's just a kid with a really fucked up life," Jax said. "You can't try to punish Tig through her, that's not right."

He sighed. "Then what do I do?" The eyes he turned up to his brother almost wet. "I just stay here, fight side by side with these…murderers?"

"I can't tell you what to do…but I can promise you that Clay won't be Prez forever. You and I both know a power shift is coming."

"And until then?"

"I'm gonna be right here."

Opie braced his hands on the edge of the open hood and hung his head between his arms. He sighed deeply. "Yeah," he said after a few moments. "Me too."

***

Agent Smith did a quick, mandatory scan of the street out in front of Teller-Morrow and then returned his attention to the pinball game on his cell phone.

"Anything?" Agent Harding asked from the passenger seat of their unmarked Crown Vic.

"Nah."

They'd been sitting on the Sons' garage for the past two hours and so far had only seen a half a dozen motorcycles and some customer cars come and go, the bikers shooting them the bird as they rolled past. Secretly, Smith wasn't confident in Stahl's ability to bring down the MC. After all, the Angels were still in operation. What could a handful of agents do to a crime organization that had flown under the radar since '67?

He shook his head as he punched the buttons on his slide-out keyboard. They should be in Oakland, working on a sloppier gang they might actually be able to bring down. His screen went black and he was gripped by momentary panic. He'd been on the last level! Then the LG started ringing and he read Stahl's number on the ID display.

"Yes, ma'am?" he answered.

"It's Estevez. Stahl wanted me to tell you we're on our way. Anything happen yet?"

"No." He frowned when he heard the sound of another approaching motorcycle. "Damn bikers been in and out all morning, mocking us." The bike's roar was joined by a louder, deeper rumble, an engine running an octave lower and much more irregularly.

Smith glanced in the rearview mirror and caught sight of a lone biker closely followed by some sort of vintage car. He caught the silver SS emblem set in the middle of the grill. As they neared, Smith thought he recognized the biker from some of the mug shots they'd looked at. "Hey," he asked Estevez. "What kind of car does the Jessup girl drive?"

"'71 Camaro. Black. You got something?"

The bike dipped in at the T-M gate and the car followed, giving him a good side view of the classic. Nice chrome accents. Cherry paint job. "Yeah. We got something."

***

"Hey."

Gemma glanced up and spied Tara in the doorway of the office. The doctor had her arms folded over her middle, looking slightly uneasy. Things between them had been better, but not stellar. Gemma was having to come to grips with the fact that she wasn't going anywhere…unfortunately.

"Hey," Gemma returned, sliding her reading glasses off her nose. "Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"I took an early, long lunch. Jax thought they might need me here."

The Queen narrowed her eyes.

"You know…might need to stitch someone up…what with the Holly situation and all."

"The what situation?" Gemma stood. "What's going on, doc?"

Tara's eyes widened. For once, the Queen didn't know what was going on. "Nothing," she said quickly. "I got my days mixed up…forget I said anything." She turned to head back out into the parking lot and Gemma followed.

"Hold on, do you know something? Something going on with the club?"

Tara didn't have a chance to respond when she spotted the black Camaro backing in alongside her Cutlass. Across the drive, Tig had climbed off his bike and stood with his hands on his hips, waiting.

"Who's that?" Gemma asked tightly of the thin blonde climbing out of the Camaro. "I recognize that car, so spill."

Tara sighed. "You remember Holly?"

"The bartender?"

"Yeah. She's back."

***

Holly could feel the eyes on her. Her boot heels rapped the pavement and it sounded as loud as gunshots in her ears. Tig was waiting off to the side and she didn't know if she was supposed to go to him or not. She closed her eyes behind her shades and took a deep breath. She remembered coming here for the first time months ago. She'd asked Tig to let her come and he'd refused, going all broody and silent afterwards. She'd come anyway. That's who she was, not this scared little girl shaking in her boots. She could do this. She could.

She opened her eyes and kept walking. She passed Tig and surprisingly, he fell into step behind her. Gemma and Tara stood just outside the office, shading their eyes with their hands, watching. Juice and Half-Sack pretended to be wiring in a new sound system on a car and actually stared with mouths slightly agape as they made their way toward the clubhouse. Clay, Chibs, and a third man Holly didn't ever remember meeting sat under the overhang and looked up at their approach.

She took another deep breath. Something she learned a long time ago with her father was the art of stoicism. All her jangled nerves and doubts had to be hidden when she finally faced down the demons.

Something brushed the base of her neck and it took her a moment to realize that it was a hand. Tig's hand.

"You're fine," he said quietly. "Nobody's gonna hurt you." He squeezed once and then let his hand fall away.

Holly nodded, confidence suddenly tripled. If Tig said it, then she knew it was true.

Clay and the others broke apart and Chibs headed towards them, the chosen ambassador.

"Well, well, look who crawled out from under a rock," a female voice called from behind her.

Holly froze, as did the guys, and everyone turned their attention to the speaker.

Stahl and two of her goons were striding towards them. The lead agent had a fake smile plastered across her face. "So, you just couldn't stay away, could ya, Holly?"

Tig bristled and made a step toward Stahl out of unconscious reaction.

Clay had joined them and put a hand across Tig's chest, holding him in place. "You need to get off my property," he told Stahl, not in a joking mood. "Before something bad happens, _agent_."

"I'm not leaving until I've had a word with Ms. Jessup," Stahl said, folding her arms.

"Is she under arrest?"

Stahl frowned. "No."

"Then we're done here." Clay glanced at Tig. "Get her inside."

He nodded and took hold of Holly's upper arm, pulling her towards the clubhouse.

Holly shot a glance over her shoulder and saw Clay and the ATF agent having a stare down. She started shaking. This did not look good for her. "Tig…Jesus, this wasn't me…I swear…I'm so sorry."

He didn't say anything.

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: I try really hard to keep Tig in character. It would be so easy to fall into the fangirl trap of him finally falling in love with someone…but that's not my intention with this story or this chapter in particular. I reworked several lines of this chap and still feel like it reads too fangirlish, hopefully you guys won't hate it. But I felt like I needed the events here to happen before Holly has the face-to-face with Gemma.**

**I'm not at all happy with this story right now so feel free to let me know if I sucked it up too badly!**

* * *

"Mind if I join you?"

Holly glanced up from the depths of her shot glass and saw Jax's girlfriend sliding onto the stool beside her. She moved the bottle of Jack towards her. "You want?"

Tara held up a hand. "Oh, um…no. It's one thirty, so no. You can feel free though," she added quickly when Holly's face fell. "Trust me, I know all about needing to take the edge off."

Holly sighed deeply and poured herself another shot.

The doctor in Tara got the best of her. "Holly, you don't look so great." That earned a dirty look. "No, I mean, you look like you feel like shit. You're a lot thinner than the last time I saw you. Have you been eating normally since the attack?"

Holly snorted. "Define normally."

"When was the last time you had a decent meal?"

"Tig bought me breakfast yesterday…" she shrugged ", guess I just forgot after that."

"Holly," Tara scolded softly. "I know that what you went through was terrible…I have no idea how awful, but you can't just wallow."

Holly scowled. "Wallow? Is that what you think this is?"

Tara held up both hands in defeat, sliding off the stool.

"Crow Eater," Holly said, stopping her before she could walk away. "Tig said I could be a Crow Eater. He doesn't want me."

She felt fingers on her shoulder. They squeezed gently. "I'm sorry," Tara said.

Holly was grateful for the sympathy, but it didn't help her cause any. She downed the shot with a wince and heard the door open and close as Tara exited. The guys were all still outside. Tig had deposited her on a bar stool and tromped out without even looking at her.

As the whiskey started to mess with her head, she started wondering why she even cared if she had his approval or not. He was so hell bent on shoving her away…but then, every once in a while, he showed the slightest bit of a human side. Like when he told her that no one was going to hurt her. Or when he'd let her snuggle up to him the night before. She knew that he was coping with guilt in the only way he knew how; shutting the world out. But at times, he almost let her in, and Holly guessed that shook him so hard he tried to make up for it with the bastard routine. In her eyes, nothing he had done or would do could make him the monster her father had been, but in the moment, watching the amber liquid fill her glass for the third time, she questioned the wisdom of trying.

If they decided to let her hang around, maybe this Crow Eater gig wouldn't be such a bad thing.

***

Gemma sat in the office making no pretences of working as she watched Jax walk across the lot towards her. He had some serious explaining to do.

"What's she doing here? Isn't she dead?" she asked the moment he stepped through the door.

Jax sighed and braced his shoulder against the door frame. "Nice to see you too, Mom."

"Don't give me the 'Mom's off her rocker' look," she scolded. "You can't tell me all that out there with that ATF cunt didn't have something to do with Tig's plaything."

Jax gave a facial shrug. There was no lying to her, but he didn't exactly want to tattle on himself either.

She leaned forward in her chair, waving her folded reading glasses at him menacingly. "That little bartender was dead, Jackson. You care to explain why I just saw her walk into the clubhouse?"

He sighed again. "What's it to you, Ma? You and I both know what was _supposed _to happen to her. It didn't work and I helped her out. Nothing else to tell."

"Yeah, and your little good deed's been chattin' up the feds. You think what this club needs is more heat right now?"

"She's not talking to the feds," he said firmly. "That's why she's here, to prove she's not a rat."

Gemma shook her head. "Jesus. And I'm just finding out about this now?"

He nodded.

"What's Clay think?"

"That there's already been enough death associated with the club," Jax said, eyes wide for emphasis. He leaned down and gave his mother a kiss on the cheek. "It's gonna be a'ight, Mom. Promise."

She rolled her eyes once his back was turned. Yep, just like his father.

***

Afternoon turned into evening and Holly didn't face the firing squad. Half-Sack came in after the shop had closed for the day and told her that she could stay in Jax's old apartment up above the dorms. She would have more space and not be so close to all the guys, plus had her own bathroom. Always a plus. The Prospect stressed Clay's message that the arrangements were only temporary, that she couldn't stay in the clubhouse for an extended period. That was fine with Holly. She didn't want to be subjected to Tig's passive-aggressive bullshit on a permanent basis.

She sat on the end of the bed and listened to the sounds of the clubhouse come alive beneath her. The door opened and closed repeatedly. There was laughing and knocking on walls and other thumps and shifts she couldn't put a source too. Even through the floor, Chibs' voice was excessively loud.

Holly turned sideways and caught her reflection in the mirror above the dresser. She realized that she'd been doing that a lot the past few days. She pulled her hair down out of her ponytail and fluffed it. It still didn't look so great against her pale skin, but it was sexier down she guessed. There had been a time when she was completely aware of her sex appeal and had used it to draw in all the big, bad suitors she hoped could end her misery. She'd been hot enough to snag Tig…at least that was what she'd thought at first. She'd started to think that hotness wasn't really it, but something deeper and darker that had captured his attention. No matter, she wasn't after Tig tonight.

She dug around in her bag and came up with a navy blue, fairly low cut tank top. She was too thin these days, but her chest was still full. She pulled the tank on and tugged down the front far enough so the very edges of her white bra peeked over the neckline. Her jeans were a tad loose, but if she folded up the hem of her shirt, it showed belly button. That would override the baggy jeans and a quick grab would prove the firmness of her ass to anyone brave enough to check.

A little lipstick and she was ready. She was going to be the old Holly tonight, prove her loyalty to the club with her body instead of her words.

Holly took a deep breath and headed down the short flight of steps. Here went nothing. She tried to block everything from her mind and concentrate on her hips, twitching them to the side subtly at the end of every stride. One foot in front of the other, slight cross, pop the hip, move the ass, draw the eyes. Shoulders back, chest out, smile on.

She half expected the room to fall silent when she entered, but it didn't. It seemed to be a relatively quiet night for the crew. Chibs and a bald guy with sleeve tattoos were shooting pool, a blonde and a brunette circling them lazily, fetching their beers and running their nails across their backs as they passed. The guys were more interested in their conversation. The women were just snacks to save for later.

Holly spotted Tig at the bar with Clay and the man with the curly hair she hadn't been able to name earlier. There was a thick bottle blonde with them, pulling their beers and laughing at whatever they were saying. Holly felt her lip curl until she remembered that she herself was a bottle blonde these days.

There were only two SAMCRO members present who weren't entertaining company for the evening. Juice and Half-Sack were on the couch…playing video games. Holly wasn't overly attracted to them, but they were both cute in their own way. She tugged at the front of her tank top again and made her way to the couch.

***

Tig had noticed her the moment she entered the room. He thought it was a bold move coming down to mingle so soon. Clay had told Stahl to fuck off and discussion of the girl had stopped for the day. They had other shit to worry about. To his credit, Tig had managed to block Holly from his mind completely for most of the day. He intended to ignore the hell out of her that night too.

But he found himself shooting a look across the room for the umpteenth time. His eyes just had this compulsion to move over her. She was too skinny right now and her hair looked shitty blonde, but somehow he couldn't give a shit about the Sweetbutt that kept refilling his mug. It was as if he'd become so used to preventing Holly from getting her little ass killed that he was obliged to keep tabs on her.

Tig hadn't expected her behavior though. Holly was wearing this tank top that left little to the imagination and was currently chatting up Juice over on the couch. She was smiling and laughing and stealing swigs of his beer and the big doofus was along for the ride, laughing right along with her.

The longer the flirtation continued, the more agitated Tig became. He wasn't really paying attention to Clay or Bobby anymore. He watched the way Holly turned sideways, giving Juice a good look down her shirt, and he kept moving closer. His hand had somehow ended up on her shoulder and if nothing else, she leaned into the touch. Juice was hooked, no doubt, and was most likely remembering the dark, shimmery hair and full hips of the Holly of four months ago. He was no doubt thinking that if she could keep Tig coming back for more, she must be something else between the sheets.

Tig realized he'd taken a death grip on the edge of the bar and frowned down at his white knuckles. He let go and reached for his beer instead.

"You feelin' alright?" Bobby asked.

Tig shot his friend a heavy look. "Why?"

"You're a little…" Clay started.

"Lethal looking," Bobby finished with a shrug. "You aren't, you know, jealous?" he waved the mouth of his bottle in Juice's direction.

"No." He knew he sounded overly defensive but couldn't seem to control it. That just worsened his mood. He adjusted his belt buckle out of mindless habit and propped one boot up on the rung of a stool. He shifted his weight so that he couldn't look over at the couch without turning.

"You think Stahl showing up was just a coincidence?" Bobby asked Clay.

The President shrugged. "She had her jackasses sitting on us all day, I figure they called in the tags when the girl pulled in." He took a swig of his beer. "I dunno. Took a lot of balls to risk coming back, I don't think the kid's fucking around with us."

Bobby nodded his agreement. "She's not exactly the big RICO ticket either. Nothing to threaten her with."

Tig listened to the exchange with half an ear, realizing he had indeed turned and was watching Juice and Holly again. She was practically sitting in Juice's lap at this point.

Something in Tig clicked, some sort of switch that flooded his system with furious adrenaline. He had told Holly countless times that he was no white knight, that he couldn't be there for her emotionally or physically. And yet here he sat, jealous as hell at the prospect of her with another man. She hadn't been a club girl, she'd been his find. Hell, his save. He'd put two bodies in the ground for this bitch, more than what he'd done for some of his brothers. He'd pushed and pushed because he couldn't handle that adoring look she gave him, and now she was seeking comfort somewhere else.

But Juice wouldn't read her body the right way. He'd be all flustered by her early ambition, all ready to blow his load at the way she arched and rubbed against him, took his dick boldly in her small hands. But he wouldn't understand that momentary panic in her eyes when he thrust inside her. She always took a second or two to process just who was inside her, to search his eyes and make sure it wasn't…her father. Juice wouldn't get that. Wouldn't know to give her a moment and then pull her legs up around his waist, squeeze her ass, let her get a feel for the hands and the body that didn't belong to her attacker. If he could give her that, she'd fuck him half the night, but he didn't know about those things. Holly was very forward at times, but there was too much trauma there for her to cut it as a Crow Eater. Tig knew that and had condemned her to it anyway.

Juice finally did pull her up onto his lap and Tig was moving before he was even aware of it.

"That didn't take long," Bobby muttered as he walked away.

Clay shook his head. "I think it's safe to say everybody needs to keep their goddamn hands off."

"Poor Juice."

***

Once she got over being schooled on the differences between Nintendo and Xbox, Holly found that Juice was very easy to talk to. Half-Sack was just too twitchy for her tastes, so she focused her efforts on mohawk boy instead.

Juice seemed a little surprised by her attention at first, but quickly loosened up. He smiled a lot, flashed this perfect, white smile that she couldn't help but think of as adorable. His voice made her think he was originally from the Northeast, but years in California had smoothed the accent down. She liked the color of his skin, liked those big brown eyes that held none of Tig's cruelty. He had young, smooth swells of muscle under his t-shirt. And go figure she had a thing for strong noses.

They talked about old hokey movies and all the excitement of living in San Joaquin. Holly slowly felt herself warming up to the thought of pulling him into a room down the hall. She was starting to want to run her hands over his chest. She bet it was smooth, warm to the touch. Holly kept moving closer, making her intentions more clear.

When she finally climbed up into his lap, he chuckled softly. "What?" she frowned. Had she lost her touch?

He grinned, shaking his head slightly. "You're really taking this club thing serious, huh?"

She leaned forward and laid a light row of kissed along his jaw. "How do you know I'm not just really hot for you right now?" she whispered.

She felt his lips against her ear. "They call me retarded, but I'm not _that _stupid."

Holly pulled back, again struck by how damn sweet his eyes were.

Juice's smile was almost sad. "You're carrying a major torch for him and we all know it. Nobody's gonna bed you right now." Then his smile slipped. "Oh shit."

"What…" Holly's question turned into a yelp as she was hoisted up by her belt. She caught a glimpse of Juice's terrified stare as she was swung up over the back of the couch and slung over someone's shoulder. Hanging upside down, ass in the air, she recognized the blue shirt and jean-covered ass of the person carrying her back down the hall.

"Tig?!" she shrieked. "What the hell? Are you kidding me?"

He had an arm around her waist, holding her on his shoulder. He shook her lightly. "Shut up," he said.

Holly heard the chuckles and murmurs of the other guys and wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole. She couldn't believe this; she'd done everything she was supposed to, she was moving on, and he had just…God, she was furious. She didn't fight because she knew there was no use, but as soon as he set her down…

Tig was silent as he carried her down the dorm hall and into one of the rooms. Even upside down and swinging, Holly recognized the dark sheets on the bed; this was his room. Then he tightened his grip around her waist and rocked her forward, sliding her down his body until she was on her feet again.

Holly felt her hands clench into fists as she watched him walk to the door, shut it, and lock it. "What the hell's the matter with you?" she said through clenched teeth. Her voice quivered and she feared she was close to tears. "You told me what I was supposed to do and I'm doing it! Damnit, Tig…" he still stood facing the door and she strode over to him, trying to force his glance towards her. "You're pissed when I want you and then you're pissed when I don't. What the fuck's wrong with you?"

He stood still, hands on the door, eyes shut, mouth curled up in a sour expression. Holly took another step, close enough to touch his arm. "Answer me," she said. Her voice cracked. "Jesus, I'm trying to do what you wanted me to…"

Tig moved so fast that she gasped. One second she was standing beside him, the next she had her back pressed against the door, held suspended in the air, his face inches from hers. He kissed her roughly and she thought her lips might be bruised. When he pulled away, he was panting. He looked…lost.

"Jesus…" he buried his face in her neck, leaned into her so that his body held her pinned against the door. "I don't know, Holly. Jesus, I don't know…"

Her anger dissolved instantly. She could never be mad at him when his walls came down. Her hands were on his shoulders and she slid one through his hair, holding his head against her. The worry and the stress and the long days were catching up to her and the backs of her eyes stung with unshed tears. "You know that I trust you…but I can't play games, Tig. I just can't."

His lips started moving against her throat, slowly at first, but the caress became more insistent. Holly felt the jolt of warmth his mouth sent through her system and she pushed back against him, fingers curling into a fist in his hair. He moved up her neck, pulling her earlobe between his teeth and she gasped. She hadn't felt this way in months.

Tig stopped abruptly and she wrapped her legs around his waist, pleading for him to continue. He was looking at her with hooded, hungry eyes and she leaned forward to kiss him. He stopped her, cupped her jaw and placed his thumb on her chin to keep her still.

"Tig-,"

He moved his thumb over her lips, cutting her off. "My head's in all the wrong places lately," he said softly. "I can't be distracted. I _won't _be distracted. But when I saw Juice…" he growled. "What do you want? What do you really want?"

Holly wanted to kiss him, wanted his hands all over her body, wanted him inside her so bad…but that wasn't what he was asking. He was testing, trying to see if she'd ask for too much, making it clear that he was not going to be her "Old Man". She resisted the urge to pull his thumb between her lips and suck on it.

"I just want to be safe," she said softly. "I've been running my whole life and I just want it to stop."

Tig nodded, his blue eyes flashing. "I can do that," he said.

When he kissed her again, she felt the difference. He was demanding, but this was sensual, this was about sex and not control. This was the Tig she'd known before. Holly sighed against his lips and arched into his body. _This _was what she wanted.

***

Juice ducked behind the bar and pulled another beer out of the cooler.

"Aw, poor lil' Juicy," Bobby drawled. "Got his hopes up and everything. Cold shower's down the hall, kid."

He flipped the cap off the Budweiser and rolled his eyes. "Please, like I thought that was actually gonna hook up."

The rest of the guys had joined them at the bar and Happy shot a confused look at Clay. "Did I miss something, or was that…"

Clay scowled and shook his head. The others didn't know about the botched hit.

"That's his bartender," Chibs supplied, missing their exchange. "He's tried hard to deny it, but truth is, Tigger's got a soft spot for that one."

"Who'd a thought," Clay muttered. "I'll just be glad once we figure out if the little bitch is telling the truth."

"I think it'd be good," Half-Sack spoke up. "You know…everybody needs somebody, right?"

He earned a series of looks that suggested he might have ridden the short bus during his school years. He ducked his head.

***

Tig hadn't realized just how much Holly's body had changed under her layers of clothes. Every rib was visible through her skin. He could almost encircle her thigh with one hand. But she was insatiable, already stroking him back to life the moment he pulled out of her. She tangled her hands in his hair when he pulled her nipple into his mouth and sucked. She undulated beneath him, murmuring her approval. He'd forgotten what it was like to fuck a girl who actually came alive when he touched her.

He trailed his lips lower, pausing over her flat, empty belly. "I'm serious about the eating," he said between kisses.

"I know," she panted.

He looked up at her, caught her gaze over the swells of her tits. "You need to take care of yourself."

She nodded and took a deep breath, trying to regain some composure. "I know. Really, I know."

He lowered his head again.

***

It was late but Hale wasn't surprised to find Stahl in his office, staring at the computer screen. He stormed in without knocking on the open door. "You went to T-M today to harass that girl?!" he demanded.

Stahl shot him a guarded look. "No, I went to _question _Holly Jessup. I would have invited you to tag along but you were out."

"Tag along…" he huffed. "I don't tag along in my own town. You do not question anyone affiliated with the Sons without a Charming PD escort."

"Ooh," she grinned. "Look at you getting all bossy. Kinda hot, Deputy."

"I'm serious," he said through clenched teeth. "You have done irreparable damage to this town and I will not let that happen again. You know what Clay and the others will do when they find out-,"

"Relax," she pulled a disgusted face. "Jesus, don't have a heart attack. The girl's fine."

He frowned.

"It seems Clay was a little more forgiving than we thought."

"So she didn't help your case, what are you still doing here?"

She gave him a tight smile. "Oh, people will always turn if you twist their arm, just gotta learn where to apply the pressure."

***

Clay sat on the end of his bed, rubbing the soreness from his hands, watching his wife pace the floor in front of him. The legs of her silk pajama pants rustled as she moved.

"You don't actually believe this bitch, do you?" Gemma asked, sounding appalled that Tig's bartender had been allowed back into the clubhouse.

Clay sighed. "If she was gonna cooperate with the feds, wouldn't she have just signed the paperwork and gone into wit pro? Why come back here and risk exposing herself? Especially after…" he trailed off, shaking his head.

Gemma paused. "What…you feel guilty? About trying to get rid of her last time?" Her tone was disbelieving.

"Yes, goddamnit," he admitted with a growl. He had tried to blame the Donna incident on coincidence, on Stahl, but as soon as he caught wind of further fracturing of the club, he'd tried to repeat the mistake. And he'd hurt another one of his brothers. He was done with that.

Gemma finally came to sit beside him, resting a hand over his, stopping his movements. "I'm sorry, baby," she said softly.

"Yeah."

"What're we gonna do here?"

"Get rid of that ATF bitch for good."

***

Tig knew that he should haul his ass out of bed before he fell asleep. His arms and legs were limp, his body was deliciously exhausted and his eyes just kept wanting to shut. He needed to go somewhere, at least move to the recliner in the corner of the room. He wanted to establish a precedent; they could fuck, but there would be no cuddly, sleep-over bullshit. They were not a couple.

But needing to move didn't actually lead to moving. Holly was on her stomach, lying on his outstretched left arm, and for some reason he didn't want to disturb her. It was a little unreal that here was the only woman to know some of his deepest, darkest secrets and yet she still wanted him. That was fucked up.

Holly looked peaceful with her eyes closed, almost like she was smiling. He could let her stay in his bed for tonight. Just this one night…

***

Holly was awake but had her eyes closed. She waited for Tig to pull his arm away and roll out of bed, but instead his breathing evened out and deepened. He had fallen asleep. She knew he hadn't meant to. She knew he had not committed to her tonight. But he'd told her she would be safe and she really wanted to believe him.

She cracked her sleepy eyes and studied his profile. He looked intense even in slumber, like he could jolt awake and tear a man's arm off any second. But the thought was far from frightening. She couldn't quite believe that someone could know how damaged her adolescence had been, know how she'd been abused and ripped up, and still want to be inside her. The only freak who wanted to fuck her after hearing the ugly truth.

She let her eyes flutter closed and searched for sleep. Maybe he'd let her stay with him just this one night.

**TBC**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: This might be my last post before Christmas, but I'll just have to wait and see. I know that a .357 is a lot of gun for someone Holly's size, but that's what I carry in my truck, so not too far fetched of a concept. **

**As always, thanks for reviews and support!**

* * *

Holly expected to wake up alone and was oddly at ease with the fact. Tig had somehow managed to cram a king sized bed in the dorm – it took up eighty percent of the room – and she liked being able to stretch through the dark satin sheets, work the kinks out of her back. Morning drowsiness and the deep blue fabric gave her the sensation of swimming as she moved her legs lazily under the covers. She was content to lay face down in the pillow for awhile, just pretend the outside world didn't exist.

But eventually, she was stirred by a growling stomach. She sat up, startled that for the first time in a while, she was actively hungry. Starving in fact. She scanned the room for her bag and realized that it was upstairs in the apartment. She pulled on her jeans and dug around through the messy dresser drawers for a shirt of Tig's she could wear. She knew her makeup was smudged and she smelled like sex, but it was early and she didn't figure she'd run into anyone else.

She padded down the hall on bare feet and was startled to find Chibs and the no-name biker at the bar, nursing coffee. She froze for a second, painfully aware of just how unkempt she looked, and they just stared at her; no smile, no nod, no greeting of any kind.

"Coffee?" she asked when it became apparent that neither was going to speak.

Chibs waved toward the glass wall of the kitchen with his mug. Holly quickly located the coffee maker on the counter, a clean mug up in the cabinets, and poured herself a cup. When she reemerged, the stare-down continued. She sighed. "What?"

"We're just afraid to get too close, darlin'," Chibs said.

The other guy nodded. "We'd hate to get you thrown over somebody's shoulder again."

Holly arched her brows. _Really?_

They held pose a second longer and then burst into laughter.

"That was beautiful," Chibs said between outbursts. "Just like in _An Officer and a Gentleman_."

Holly snorted. "Yeah. Just like it."

"I don't think you and me have been formally introduced, sweetheart," the other guy said.

She extended a hand over the bar. "We haven't. Holly."

He gave a facial shrug at the gesture but shook her hand. "Bobby; the brains of this operation," he said with a wink.

Holly caught a bit of an over-attentive uncle vibe from him, but he seemed harmless enough. Still, she folded her arms once the introduction was done. She shot a look over her shoulder towards the kitchen when her stomach growled again. She noted the pots and pans on the overhead rack, the stainless steel fridge.

"Hey, you guys hungry?"

***

Holly was shocked she still knew how to use kitchen utensils. She chopped up an onion and a tomato and whisked them into her egg and Tabasco mixture for spicy omelets. The fridge was, not surprisingly, stocked with guy food, i.e. meat. She fried up enough bacon for the three of them and the sizzling in the pan brought Half-Sack stumbling out of somewhere.

She figured that if she wasn't able to earn her keep providing the guys with a little after hours comfort, she could at least make breakfast. She served them first and then scraped up an omelet and four strips of bacon for herself. She hopped up on the end barstool beside Half-Sack and dug in.

"I thought you didn't eat," the Prospect said. Coming from anyone else, it would have been a smartass remark, but was just a general observation from him.

Holly had to make a conscious effort to chew her food completely, then swallow before shoving in another bite. She couldn't ever remember being so hungry in her life. "Changed my mind," she managed between mouthfuls.

When she was done, she pushed her plate away and seriously debated opening up a second package of bacon and frying some more. She thought she might be able to eat a little more. _Baby steps _she told herself. _No need to overcompensate and gain fifty pounds._

The clubhouse door banged open and boots tromped across the hardwood. Tig drew up to the end of the bar and propped against it with one elbow. He fired a look down the row at all of them that was supposed to be scary but somehow fell short when he almost grinned.

Chibs looked up completely straight-faced. "Mornin', Da. Mum made us breakfast." His composure slipped and he couldn't hold back the laughter as Tig came around the bar with clenched fists.

"Whoa, easy there, _Dad_," Bobby interjected, preventing the Scotsman from getting an ass beating. He chuckled and raised his brows at Chibs. "Don't think he liked that one, Chibby."

Holly ducked her head and tried to hide her own laughter.

"You're fucking hilarious," Tig grumbled, but he was grinning. "Holly, get cleaned up or whatever the shit you gotta do. We're leaving in ten minutes."

"Leaving?" Holly swiveled around on her stool. Hadn't she traveled enough in the past three days?

"Short trip. Coming right back," he assured.

She sighed but nodded. "I was gonna do the dishes…"

"Sack can get those," Bobby said.

The Prospect groaned but nodded.

Holly stacked her clean plate on top of his and climbed off her stool. She had to walk past Tig to head down the back hall and she was prepared for more cold shoulder. Instead, he smacked her on the ass as she passed.

"Hustle up," he said without any threat behind the words.

Holly did hustle. She was a little afraid that if she blinked, new and improved Tig might disappear.

***

Holly was back down to the common room in ten minutes flat; slightly fresh clothes, brushed teeth, damp hair – not a knock-out but presentable for whatever the hell Tig was planning. He was waiting at the door, shades already on, canvas duffel over one shoulder. He had a set of car keys twirling around one finger. Holly recognized the big silver Chevy bowtie keychain and realized they were her keys.

"You driving?" she asked.

"Not exactly."

He pushed through the door and she followed. Once outside, Tig whistled to one of the non-biker mechanics standing outside the garage bays. "Dog," he called. "Take the Camaro around the block a couple times and then pull back in."

The guy nodded and Tig flipped him the keys.

"Hold on…I don't know that guy. He's not driving my car," Holly said with a frown.

Tig sighed like she was an idiot. "You see that?" he pointed toward the gate.

It took her a moment, but Holly finally spotted the unmarked cruiser on the curb.

"You've got a damn near illegal tint on those windows. ATF won't know it's not you."

"Oh. What're we taking?"

He snorted as they walked toward the long row of bikes parked along the rail of the loading ramp.

Holly became both excited and nervous when she realized they'd be taking his bike. She'd never been on the back of one before. He stopped beside one and pulled its helmet off the handlebars, handing it to her. She wasn't surprised that his was the only Harley adorned with little chrome skulls and spikes. She put the helmet on and wiggled it around; it was way too big but she tightened up the chin strap as much as possible.

Tig was already on and held the bag out to her. "If you're riding bitch you'll have to carry this."

She sighed. "Do I look like a pack mule?" But she slipped the strap over her head and settled it across one shoulder anyway.

"Can you get on or do you need help?" he asked in a patronizing tone.

In answer, she swung her right leg over the bike and slipped onto the tiny little rear seat. There wasn't a sissy bar, nothing to keep her from just flying off the back, so she scooted all the way up, linking her arms around his waist.

"Pegs," he said, waving toward her feet.

A quick sweep of the machine showed her the rear passenger footpegs and she set the toes of her boots on them. Her knees were jacked up around his hips and with her elevated position, she could tuck her head over his shoulder and watch the road. She felt a bit like a baby chimp riding on its mother's back. Only the feel of him against nearly every inch of her was a solid reminder that this was the man who'd fucked her into oblivion the night before. Heat blossomed in her cheeks at the mental images.

Tig fired up the engine and the Harley grumbled to life, vibrating beneath her.

"You good?" he called over the idling bike.

"Yeah."

She watched over his shoulder as the mechanic pulled her Camaro out onto the street. The unmarked followed. And then Tig cranked the throttle and headed toward the gate. Holly tightened her grip and closed her eyes as they pulled out. Moving that fast, that close to the pavement was more than unnerving and she rested her cheek against the leather of his cut, praying their trip was short.

She registered several dipping turns that she figured must have nearly laid them down on the pavement and then the engine's growl leapt up the octaves. Her hair slipped out from underneath the helmet's edges and was swept backward. The sleeves of her shirt rippled on her arms. She could tell they were hauling ass.

The muscles in Tig's back rolled under her cheek. "Open your eyes!" he shouted over the roar of wind and engine.

"What?!" she shouted back, eyes still clamped shut.

"Open your eyes, chickenshit!" he yelled again, laughing afterward.

She idly wondered how he knew her eyes were shut. Maybe because he could feel her face digging into his shoulder blade. Holly took a deep breath and hitched her chin up over his shoulder. She was terrified, but it had been a good five minutes and she hadn't fallen off. She counted to three and then opened her eyes.

The world was a blur, rushing at them and then slipping past just as quickly. The only steady points on her map were Tig's hands on the grips. The wind stung her eyes, chapped her lips…but she was flying. Just flying. This was freedom. Absolute and complete.

She leaned into Tig and smiled. "Can this thing go any faster?" she hollered.

In answer, he revved the throttle and the bike responded with a fresh burst of speed. She didn't care where he was taking her, the rush was worth it.

***

Holly knew that nothing legal could possibly be going on behind the roll top doors of the sprawling warehouse set-up. Tig tossed a half-hearted wave toward the building and called it "Caracara," before he pulled the bag off her shoulder and started walking around the back of the concrete structure.

Under ordinary circumstances, she should have questioned their trek outside of town to a desolate stretch of scrub forest and the brand new, gleaming warehouse in its midst. It looked like the set-up to a cheesy horror flick where horny teenagers met their doom with their pants around their ankles. But time for turning back had come and gone. And there was a solid, unexpected warmth that had settled at the pit of her stomach. Her savior hadn't rejected her after all.

"You coming?"

"Oh." She broke into a trot and headed after Tig.

The warehouse was actually a series of three smaller buildings connected with overhangs and loading ramps. Behind the middle unit, half-ringed by the smaller buildings, was an open area that was bordered with stacks of sandbags at one end. Tattered bits of paper clung to the makeshift wall and fluttered around in the late morning breeze. The ground was littered with…Holly knelt and prodded at one of the hundreds of glimmering cylinders…shell casings. She didn't know much about guns, but these were large caliber rounds. She let her eyes sweep down the pavement toward the sandbags and realized the setup for what it was.

"Shooting range," she observed. "Decide to off me after all?" she teased, secretly afraid it might be true.

"Maybe if you don't quit bugging me," Tig grumbled. He'd unzipped the bag and was shuffling through it, metallic clinks coming from its depths.

Holly stood and joined him, staring down into the duffel. There were at least five hand guns inside and several boxes of ammo. "Jesus…"

"You ever shoot one of these?" he asked, pulling out a revolver that looked like a cannon. He aimed it at the wall and squinted, then nodded at something he found satisfactory about the weapon.

"Never even held one," she admitted a little sheepishly. "That's usually the kind of thing…well…you know…"

The kind of thing a father taught his daughter.

Tig frowned when she trailed off, but nodded. "'Kay."

"Is this really necessary?"

"I can't be there every time you need to put a bullet through somebody," Tig said. He wasn't condescending, just very matter-of-fact. "Time for you to learn. _Everybody _needs to know how to shoot."

She took a deep breath and nodded.

***

Tig pinned three silhouette targets up against the sandbag wall and explained the desired strategy. A head shot was always lethal, at the very least disabling, but a chest shot made for a better target and would do significant damage. A head shot wasn't worth shit if you missed. And nobody could run too far with a bullet hole in his torso.

Then came the part that worried her. Tig hefted the big steel and wood revolver into her hands and she fumbled with the unexpected weight of it.

"Aw, come on," he made a face. "Don't be a pussy. Here." He righted the gun and positioned her hands around the grip. Right hand first, finger resting outside the trigger guard, left hand to support.

"This is a big fucking gun," Holly protested at the sight of the thing in her tiny hands.

".357," Tig said. "And yeah, it's big, means it puts a big hole through the fucker you shoot too."

"Is this what you carry?"

"Naw." He pulled his nine mil out of his waistband to show her. "This is lighter, faster, got more shots…but slides are tricky for chicks. Revolver doesn't leave behind shell casings and it won't ever jam. A lot easier to load too." He slipped his Glock back into his waistband and took the .357 from her. "Watch."

The blast was louder than movies made it seem. The last time Holly had been that close to a gunshot was a night she tried repeatedly to block from her mind. It was a multi-dimensional sound. There was the initial, staccato crack as the round left the muzzle, the actual explosion, and the swelling _boom _that could be heard for miles seemed to be milked out of the air, expanding until it hit a crescendo and then fading to dull chimes. The entire effect took place over a half a breath, a fraction of a heartbeat, but it rang inside her head for seconds to come.

Tig lowered his arms, smirking with satisfaction at the hole punched clean through the head of the silhouette. "Alright, your turn."

***

It took the better part of an hour and an entire box of Remington 38 Special cartridges, but Holly learned how to shoot. Tig was as impatient and snappy as a drill sergeant, was rough when he adjusted her hands on the grip. He put his elbow in her back and knocked on her arms when her posture wasn't quite right and yelled when she fired wild and the round ricocheted off the roofline of the warehouse.

But she learned to let the muscles in her arm relax and absorb the recoil passively. She found it was easier to find her sights with her left eye closed. And if she aimed a hair lower than she thought necessary, her shot was right on the money. When she fired off the last cartridge, it pierced just to the right of center on the silhouette – right through the heart. A kill shot.

Holly lowered the gun and shot a glance to Tig. He had his arms crossed, eyes unreadable behind his shades. He nodded. "'Kay. Let's head back."

She grinned. His lack of insult meant she'd done well.

***

Holly tightened her arms around Tig's waist as they approached the T-M gates. The unmarked cruiser was back in place, but was facing away from them. She figured by the time they realized she'd slipped in and out under their noses, they'd be safely back on the garage property, but still she quivered a bit.

She didn't fully relax until Tig backed the Harley into place beside its brothers. She lingered a moment after he shut off the engine, removing her borrowed helmet slowly. She suppressed a grin when she took note of what the lack of a helmet had done to his hair on the ride; the dark, curly mess reminded her a little of Gene Wilder's 'do in _Young Frankenstein_.

She handed the helmet over when she realized Tig was giving her a hard look. "What?"

She chuckled. "Your hair looks _killer _right now."

He snorted. "I gotta get to work. Can you keep from shooting yourself when you put the guns away?"

Holly sighed. He was never going to loosen up and do the whole back and forth thing with her. Comedy was something he reserved for his fellow Sons. "I think I can manage." She climbed off the bike and moved the duffel to a more comfortable spot on her shoulder, disappointed that he walked off without even a backwards compliment to her shooting skills.

He was already halfway to the garage when he turned around. "Hey, put the .357 in your purse. Keep it."

Holly shaded her eyes with her hand, trying to discern his level of seriousness from a distance. "You sure? I mean, it's gotta be expensive…"

He made a loud sound that was half sigh, half growl.

""It's your gun, Tig. I don't wanna just take it."

He took two long strides back towards her so he didn't have to shout. His mouth was twisted up in frustration. "Keep the goddamn gun, Hol. I don't ever use the thing anymore."

She started to protest again and he took another step. "It's a fucking present. Hell, pretend it's your birthday. But part of your whole 'safe' bit means knowing how to handle a piece."

"Fine," she held up her hands in surrender, then felt a smile tug at her lips. "Thank you."

He grumbled something unintelligible and walked off, shaking his head.

Holly watched him for a moment, silently laughing at the way he got so worked up when he was afraid he might be doing something nice for someone. She rolled her eyes at his unwavering hardassness and headed for the clubhouse.

Juice was at a table inside, staring at the screen of his laptop. He was mid-reach for his beer when she entered and quickly looked down, nearly spilling the Bud all over his computer.

"Hey," Holly greeted slowly. She kept walking until she was beside him. He made a point of not looking up. "I just wanted to apologize about last night. Things are strange with me right now and I thought…hell, I don't know. But I didn't mean to be rude like that."

He shrugged. "It's cool. I knew how it would go down."

"Juice?"

"Hmm?" He still didn't look up.

She put a hand on his shoulder. "For what it's worth, you're the damn near cutest thing I've ever seen. You shouldn't let the rest of the guys give you such a hard time."

He snapped his head around, brown eyes huge in disbelief.

"And you're a nice guy," she continued. "Don't ever lose that." She gave him a single pat on the shoulder and then headed down the hall towards the dorms, giving him a chance to chew over what she'd said.

She hoped he didn't interpret things other than intended, didn't think making a move was smart all of a sudden. But 'sweet' wasn't exactly a common word in her lexicon and she was in a compliment paying mood. Guys like Juice didn't stay that way long in the MC world, maybe a little reminder would help him retain his goofy charm awhile longer.

She didn't know where Tig kept his guns, so she went into his dorm to leave the duffel on the bed. He could figure out the particulars later. She unzipped the bag and withdrew the hefty revolver that was now apparently hers. Rolling it from palm to palm, feeling the cold, solid weight of it, Holly decided she kind of liked it. It made her feel…she dug through her internal list of sensations…less vulnerable. That was it. It was much harder to feel like a victim when you were packing that much firepower.

"That's a lot of gun for a little girl."

Holly spun at the sound of a female voice, raising the .357 to half-mast.

Gemma stood in the open doorway. She made a disbelieving face and held up both palms. "What? You gonna shoot me?"

"Oh." Holly let her arms fall. "No. Sorry, just a little twitchy." She set the gun on the bed to prove her point. "Really, I'm so sorry."

The Queen harrumphed loudly and took several steps into the room. "_Sorry_? After what you did, I don't think _sorry _covers it, sweetheart."

Holly was silent. During their few brief encounters before, Gemma had shown nothing but a disgruntled apathy toward her. Holly didn't begrudge her that, but she didn't want to be falsely accused of anything.

Gemma took another step. "What? Nothing to say? No snarky comeback? You come all the way from wherever the fuck you've been hiding and what, you think you can just waltz back in?"

"No," Holly said quietly. "I didn't think that. But I haven't done anything."

"Yeah? Well what ever happened to 'not turning the club upside down'? Seems like you've done a bang-up job of that. You're in town three days and we already got ATF breathing down our necks."

"I came to prove I wasn't a rat, I didn't ask to be taken in."

"Then why the hell are you still here?"

"Because…" Holly faltered. Truthfully, she was still there because so long as Tig Trager so much as _looked _at her, she would stick around. Because for the first time in four months she had her appetite back. She was warm. She felt safe.

Gemma closed the distance between them, her expression ferocious. "Of all the single guys around here you have to go for…," she huffed, her frustration building. "Do you have any idea what he does for this club? For my husband? He _cannot _have outside voices in his head."

"I'm not a voice," Holly said. " He's a grown man and he can make his own choices."

"Not around you apparently," Gemma fired back. "You come back here and play on guilt and long-dead emotions…"

"That's not what I'm doing!" Holly burst.

Gemma stopped mid-rant, eyes enlarging in a mixture of shock and fury. Her eyes danced with what she wanted to say, but she was silent, waiting for the young woman to dig herself into a deeper hole.

Holly's breath was coming in big gulps, a myriad of flashbacks and mental images making the room feel too small and too crowded. In a haze of remembered panic, she forgot that she was addressing the SAMCRO Queen. This was just a woman trying to belittle her trauma and turn her into the villain. Her voice quivered when she spoke. "Do you know what happened to me?"

Gemma was quiet.

"Do you know what my _father _did to me? Tig _saved _me. More than once. I wouldn't…I could _never _do anything to hurt the club." She drew in a deep breath for courage. "You don't scare me, Gemma. Not after what he did. Not after all that. You don't scare me." Holly felt her fire dwindle when the Queen continued to stare at her. She'd really stepped in it this time. The MC women had a hierarchy too, and she'd just forfeited any kindness the club might have been willing to show her.

Gemma shifted her weight to one foot, relaxing, and pursed her lips. "You done?"

"Yeah."

"That was ballsy…stupid, but ballsy. I'll give ya credit for being tough."

Holly thought her mouth might fall open.

"Your old man, he rape you?" Gemma asked quietly.

Holly nodded.

"What're you after with Tig? 'Cause you're shit outta luck if you think he'll take an Old Lady-,"

"Safe," Holly said. "I told him I wanted to be safe. I know he won't ever really care about me. I can live with that."

Gemma barked a laugh. "Yeah, that's what you'll think at first. Give it a month or two; you'll want a title, a house, kids."

"No," Holly's voice dropped to a near whisper. "I'm no good to anybody. I won't ever be a mother, a wife…I know not to ask for those things."

The Queen folded her arms and rocked back on her heels, scrutinizing her.

"He won't be faithful to you."

"I…I know."

"The club has too many enemies right now, we damn sure don't need some little tart to fuck things up."

"I didn't rat to ATF," Holly assured. "I tried to go as far away from here as possible and not cause the club any trouble…but now…"

The dorm was quiet for a moment. Holly wondered just how badly she'd screwed herself over by mouthing off to the head of the "royal family". She shifted her feet nervously on the hardwood.

"Put that in your bag and come on," Gemma nodded to the .357 Holly had placed on the bed.

"What?" Holly couldn't understand what she was hearing. "Are you…what?"

"I told the boys I'd pick up lunch. Let's go." She left the room, obviously expecting Holly to follow.

She wasn't sure what had happened, but she knew this wasn't sudden acceptance. She would have to prove herself to the Queen. Still, she broke into a jog as she went up to the apartment to grab her purse.

**TBC**


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Here we go with more of the story I hate...I can't figure it out, but I really don't like this. It's become a challenge; I have a bad habit of leaving stories unfinished so I want to finish this, by God! Also, I think I got the name of the market correct, think I saw it in the season 2 finale. If not, correct me.**

**Hope everyone had a nice holiday!**

* * *

Clay hadn't quite figured he was old enough to have hallucinations, but he couldn't find a reasonable explanation as to why his wife and Holly were walking across the parking lot together toward Gemma's XLR. He closed the tool chest he'd been rummaging through and scanned the garage bay for Tig. He quickly spotted the back of his curly head.

"Hey, what's your toy doing with Gemma?"

Tig was beside him in an instant, eyes going wide when he glanced across the lot. "Aw shit…that's not good."

Clay sighed. "You think?"

"Should I…?" Tig waved towards the two women climbing into the car. He had this oddly helpless look on his face. This had the potential to be worse than a Gemma/Tara catfight.

"Naw. Nothing you can do at this point…'cept maybe pray. God might be the only one strong enough to get between them."

***

Holly watched the storefronts slide by through the window of Gemma's Cadillac. So far, the first quarter mile of their ride had been silent; the muted tones of Bonnie Raitt through the speakers the only sounds. Holly waited for the verbal assault, could swear she actually felt the words building up in the Queen's throat, ready to spew out in angry bursts. She knew she deserved it, knew it was coming. Gemma pulled in a deep breath. Here it came…

"Where were you living?" Gemma asked. "You know, when you 'went as far away as you could'."

Holly was so shocked that she wasn't yelled at that she fumbled for a response. "Oh…um…Colorado…Denver actually."

"You like it there?"

"Meh," she said honestly. "It was beautiful, all the snow in winter. But cold. The people I worked with were nice…really nice. But…"

"What? You miss all the excitement of Lodi?" Gemma said on a sneer.

Holly braced her elbow against the window ledge on the door and frowned at her reflection. "I didn't belong there," she said.

Gemma snorted. "Don't tell me you're one of those hippy freaks who thinks she needs a special _place in the world _or some bullshit."

Holly couldn't help but smile at the comment. "I was born in Lodi, I mix a mean Hurricane, and I'm wearing cowboy boots. Do I look like a hippy?"

"Looks can be deceiving. For instance…you don't look like the kinda girl who gets Tig's head all spun around and brings the feds crashing down on us."

Holly sighed. Just when she thought she was making progress.

"He take you out shooting this morning?" Gemma changed subjects smoothly, like she hadn't just cut the girl down.

"Yeah…um, yes ma'am."

There was a soft chuckle from behind the wheel. "You any good?"

"Not really at first, but I got better."

"Was the gun his idea or yours?"

"His."

"Hmm."

They lapsed back into silence after that, which was fine by Holly. She half wondered if Gemma was bipolar. She mixed her questions and insults with a master's skill. Holly supposed she had turned fucking with Jax's various girlfriends into an art form over the years. The fact that Tara was still around spoke volumes about the seemingly meek doctor.

They went to Lumpy's and picked up burgers for the guys, the back seat crammed with take-out containers afterwards. On the way back to the garage, Gemma pulled up to the curb beside the market.

"Wait here," Gemma instructed, climbing from behind the wheel.

"Sure," Holly muttered after she was gone.

***

"What've you got?" Clay asked tiredly, wiping a hand across his eyes.

Juice was behind his laptop, holding everyone's attention. He shrugged. "Name and birth date are legit, so's the abuse story. I've got medical records going all the way back to '89. Broken arm, dislocated shoulder, fractured cheek…that asshole beat the shit outta her."

Clay risked a sideways glance to Tig and saw the well-masked rage building just beneath the other man's surface.

"What about anything fraudulent?" Bobby asked. "She open a credit card or checking account in another name?"

Juice clicked away on his keyboard and then shook his head. "Still got the account in her name at San Joa Savings and Loan, no credit history…at all, surprisingly." He looked up and shrugged. "On paper, Holly Jessup's squeaky clean."

Jax shook his head, frustrated. "I already told you, unless she jacked a car in Denver, Stahl doesn't have shit on her."

"Well, the bitch has something on her!" Clay fired back.

Opie sat alone at the bar, staring at the back wall, a specter of their gathering. His barstool creaked as he spun it around. "This is what she does," he said quietly, pulling all eyes. "Stahl. She chipped at Donna, at Tara…went after them multiple times without any basis." He directed a hard, unforgiving look at Tig in particular. "She makes people believe shit they shouldn't. It's what she does."

Glances shifted between all club members present. Everyone understood the blame that Opie was laying at their feet.

"Yeah," Clay finally said.

Jax caught his best friend's eye and nodded.

Opie pulled in a deep breath. "Whatever ATF tries to do to us, we can handle it. But…we _can't _let anyone else get hurt because of them."

Clay nodded. He looked at Juice. "Call Unser."

***

Gemma scanned the Sunflower Market's pitiful selection of hair dyes. She'd run in to grab some ketchup – the clubhouse fridge was low and she'd never hear the end of it from Jax and Juice if they had to eat fries without ketchup – but she'd been oddly drawn to the toiletry aisle. She scanned the color labels looking for a dark shade of brunette. She had a near photographic memory and she could recall the girl's previous dark mane.

She finally settled for a Clairol with built-in highlights and took her purchases to the register. She could do something nice for the poor little tart, even if it was just make her hair look less shitty.

Gemma glanced through the front window of the store while the clerk rang up her things, half afraid Holly might have bailed. But she could still see the girl in the passenger seat of her Caddy, slumped against the window. As an afterthought, she tossed a Butterfinger in with her selections.

In the span of time it took her to slide her card and sign the receipt, a pedestrian had drawn up to XLR's window and was tapping on the glass to get Holly's attention. Gemma's lips compressed into a harsh line when she recognized the pressed suit and flawless hair of June Stahl.

She shouldered through the door of the market, shopping bag clenched in a death grip, and strode across the short distance to her car. "This is the problem with having a nice car," she said loudly to capture the agent's attention. "It draws in the bums looking for a handout."

Stahl turned, features already schooled into a smug look. "Well, I go fishing for the riff-raff and reel in the Queen of Mayberry herself." She gestured over her shoulder at the now panic stricken Holly. "This is becoming quite the habit, taking the little sluts under your wing."

Gemma forced a condescending smile. "Well, they gotta learn from somebody."

"You know," Stahl folded her arms and stepped towards Gemma, abandoning Holly at the prospect of juicier prey. "The little tart from Nevada, I get that. She was just a tart. But this…this one is tampering with your safety, Gemma. You really gonna let one of your husband's friend's bimbos break apart when you've worked so hard to get where you are."

Gemma took another step, closing the final gap between them. "Well aren't you sweet," she whispered with a grin. "All worried about me." She slipped her shades on. "Tell ya what, why don't you let me worry about the bimbo. You can use the extra time to work on the wardrobe." Then she let the smile fall. "My burgers are getting cold," she said dismissively, stepping around the agent.

She could feel Stahl's eyes on her as she slid behind the wheel and cranked the Caddy to life. Holly was wide-eyed and pale beside her as she pulled out into traffic.

"Gemma, I'm sorry, I didn't think she'd follow me here -,"

"Chill," Gemma sighed. She tossed the shopping bag into the girl's lap. "Picked something up for ya."

The plastic crinkled as Holly dug through it. "Hair color?"

"You look like shit, kid."

"Uh huh."

"Oh, candy too. You could stand to put some meat on your bones."

***

Gemma gave the boys a chance to get good and involved in their lunch before she dropped the Stahl bomb on them. Holly sat at the bar alone, picking at a ragged nail with her teeth. She cringed when Gemma relayed their trip's events.

"She what?!" Jax paused with his cheeseburger suspended in front of his mouth. "That stupid fuckin' ATF bitch…"

Grumbles of agreement issued from the rest of the guys.

"Everybody calm down," Clay said. "Unser's coming by in an hour or so, nobody flip their shit. We're gonna sort this out."

***

After Clay said 'sort this out', Holly found herself unable to pay attention any more. The words were both comforting and worrisome since she couldn't figure out if she might be made to pay later for this royal cluster fuck. She spun her barstool away from the group and poked at her untouched cheeseburger. The appetite she'd cultivated on the way to Lumpy's had been doused when Stahl appeared. Now the smell of the food alone was enough to turn her stomach.

She picked sesame seeds off the top of the bun until she heard the guys wrap up their impromptu lunch meeting and head their separate ways. Gemma went back to the office and the Sons headed toward the garage, Tig giving her a stern "Eat the fucking burger," on his way out.

Holly sighed, relieved when the door finally swung shut, and was just as quickly startled when the stool beside her scraped across the hardwood. She glanced sideways and saw Juice sliding onto the stool, hands raised in a harmless pose.

"Just me," he offered in response to her startled look.

"No," she tried to play off her surprise. "I just thought you left with everyone else."

They sat in silence, both staring at the back wall for a moment before Juice finally spoke. "You gonna eat that?"

"What? Oh…" Holly shoved her burger and its foil wrapper make-shift plate towards him. "No. You go ahead."

He pinched off a bite and then shoved it back her direction. "I just wanted a bite. Besides, I think you were told to eat," he said with an eye roll. "Trust me, better _not _to piss Tig off."

Holly couldn't help but smile at the very earnest way he tilted his head when he mentioned Tig. "You sound like you know that from experience."

"Dude…I've lost count of how many times I've been slapped upside the head."

"There must be some good stories there," she prodded, curious. She grinned, hoping she could sweet talk him out of some information.

He reluctantly returned the expression which made her smile wider; his good nature was infectious. "Yeah…I talk, you eat."

Holly took a bite of her burger while he started a story that he edited for club content, but involved Tig's ass and a Doberman's teeth. She was chuckling around her next bite. And the one after that. Before she realized it, she'd polished off lunch without a single nervous stomach lurch.

***

Holly had no idea why the Charming Police Chief showed up at the clubhouse, but it only took one look from Clay to send her up to the apartment and out of earshot. She decided to make use of the time and try the dye Gemma had purchased for her.

She set the hair dryer on the counter and ran the brush through her now-dark hair one last time. Her reflection startled her a bit. She had become accustomed to the blonde, even though it didn't match and stood out from her brown eyebrows. But the brunette was both shocking and fitting. It wasn't as good as a salon job; it was a tad dull, but it would allow her roots to grow out unnoticed.

There was a knock at the door, soft and not intimidating. Not Tig. "Hey, Holly?" the Prospect's voice gave him away.

She left the bathroom and walked the meager feet to the door, pulling it open before he had a chance to knock again. Half-Sack looked almost startled to see her.

"Oh…hey…wow, your hair is different."

"I dyed it."

"Yeah, so, um, Clay wants you to come down to the chapel."

Holly pulled in a deep breath and nodded. This couldn't be good.

***

Tig tried and failed to massage away the ever-present headache between his eyes. Clay had sent the Prospect after Holly in light of Unser's revelations. The Chief sat at the foot of the table in Piney's usual seat, looking nervous to be in their meeting room, arms folded. According to him, Stahl had put in a request for federal marshals to move a CI from Denver to somewhere in the northeast. Someone had obviously cooperated and was going into wit pro. No one had actually said it, but it looked like Holly might have finally caved.

Tig glanced around the table and caught the rigid looks of his brothers. Jax kept shaking his head like he was having a seizure or something and Juice looked sad, like a kicked puppy. The little retard was starting to have a bit of a soft spot for the girl and Tig wasn't so sure if he was okay with that.

"Are you sure…" Jax fired a look down the table at Unser. "There's no one else Stahl could have tapped for this?"

Unser shrugged with shoulders and eyebrows. "It's like I said before; one of my desk guys intercepted a call from some uppity schmuck in the Denver federal department, said Stahl's 'request for confidential witness transfer' had been approved. Boy Wonder told me about the girl who's been hanging around here so I just assumed…"

"It doesn't make any sense," Juice spoke up with a frown. "She spends years taking shit from her old man without ever talking to the cops, why go to them about us?"

"And Stahl doesn't have shit on her, so there's no reason to cooperate with the feds," Bobby reasoned.

Jax nodded his agreement with both statements.

Tig sighed and slapped his palms down on the table. "We've been over this bullshit," he grumbled. "The doc didn't rat…hell, goddamn _Cherry _didn't say anything, Holly didn't talk. I know she didn't."

Unser raised his brows and Clay just shook his head as if to say 'don't ask'. "Either way," the President said. "I'm sick and goddamn tired of all this shit. It's way past time that ATF bitch was disposed of."

There were nods all around, even from the Chief who didn't seem disturbed in the slightest by the fact the MC was talking about taking out a federal official.

The double doors opened with a soft click and Half-Sack's arm held one of them open. Holly entered, slowly but assuredly. Tig instantly recognized her 'I'm terrified but not about to show it' stance. He did a mental double take however over her hair. She disappears for an hour and comes back a brunette. It looked better though. She stood uncertainly at the foot of the table, a little behind and to the side of Unser.

"After your little _incident _earlier," Clay addressed her. "We talked to Chief Unser here and he seems to think that Stahl's working out a wit pro deal with someone." He hardened his features. "That someone wouldn't be you, would it?"

"Absolutely not," Holly said quickly. "I've only left the clubhouse twice and that was with Tig and then Gemma. If you ask-,"

He cut her off with a wave and she shifted her feet on the hardwood, arms crossed in a defensive position.

"I know," Clay said, voice losing some of its edge. "But you can understand my worry…that sneaky cunt's real good at painting a picture."

Holly nodded.

"Denver…" Chibs was thinking aloud about Unser's earlier statement. He craned his neck to look around a sullen Opie at Holly. "You have any friends back in Colorado, sweetheart?" he asked, his pronunciation of the state's name almost incomprehensible.

She frowned. "Not friends…I had some acquaintances at work, but nothing deep."

"Where you goin' with this?" Jax asked his brother.

"Maybe she pressed a friend to dish on her," he pointed at Holly ", so ATF can get some leverage."

Bobby nodded. "You spend time outside of work with anybody?" he asked her.

Again Holly frowned, deeper this time. "No. There was this guy…"

Tig's hands unconsciously curled into fists and he had to force them to relax again.

"…He was sweet but a total dope. I never went anywhere with him but he kept asking me. He really freaked when ATF showed up, offered to post my bail if I got locked up."

"You talk to this little asshole since you got back to Cali?" Tig asked, voice tense.

She looked startled that he'd actually spoken to her in front of everyone else. "No, of course not."

Clay looked between the girl and his Sgt at Arms, almost humored that Tig sounded jealous. "You got any old friends in Lodi? Pope? Anybody with a habit who could use some federal leniency?"

Holly swept a hand back through her freshly darkened hair, latching onto a large chuck at the base of her neck and wincing as she tugged. Her pixie features were twisting up as her composure slipped. She looked like the pressure may have finally cracked her surface and the tears threatened to fall. "No!" she said too loudly. "I don't have a single fucking friend on this earth…" her voice dropped to a whisper. "I just…I don't…I don't understand why Stahl wants me so bad, I swear I don't. _I'm_ nobody and I don't _know_ anybody…I don't know how to make you all believe me…"

"Well, Jesus, don't cry," Clay muttered. "We'll figure something out…just go, hang out at the bar or something."

Tig was oddly relieved when she nodded and stepped back out into the common room. He had always felt funny about her being around all the guys at once; women associated even loosely with him didn't fare so well. It was as if she belonged to some dark, long-dead part of his mind that he didn't want exposed to the outside world. That and she reminded him of his guilty conscience; something he didn't like to think about in relation to the MC.

Clay drew his attention by thumping his fingers against the table top. The President looked tired. "I'm gonna ask this one more time because my gut tells me I should, then I'll leave it alone. I don't know what the fuck goes on between you and the girl, but I need to know, from you, if we can trust her. Is she tough enough to deal with all the shit ATF can dish out?"

The implied questions were, does she trust the club enough to rely on their methods of protection and retribution? Does she have Gemma's balls? Tara's smarts? Does she care enough to want to protect her man? Clay was undoubtedly thinking that she would be more dependable as an Old Lady than a free agent, less likely to pull some shit because of jealousy. But he wouldn't ask_ that_ of Tig, no way it was going to happen.

Tig nodded. "Absolutely."

***

Holly wandered out the back door of the clubhouse and found a relatively comfortable perch at the edge of the loading dock. The pose was one that reminded her alarmingly of lunch breaks outside Goodman's Sports in Denver, minus the snow and freezing temps. She let go of all the mental anguish that plagued her and just took stock of the California afternoon. The clouds moved along the dusky blue sky slowly, the shadows eventually drifting and stretching like fingers across the pavement.

She didn't know how long she sat there, but she wasn't surprised that it was nearly dark when the door squeaked open behind her. She was struck by the déjà vu of it all and half expected to see Jeremy the stock boy sinking down beside her.

She turned and found Tig instead, his long legs dangling over the edge. His profile was just a shadow in the waning light, though she thought his eyes might glow in the dark if he faced her. He dug a cigarette and lighter from his cut and lit up, inhaling deeply on the initial drag.

"Nice night," he said mildly.

Holly nodded, slowly letting her folded arms unwind. She put her palms on the concrete on either side of herself, leaning back a bit. The safe feeling she got with him was inexplicable, but undeniable. He was here, she could relax.

They sat for awhile in silence; something Holly couldn't ever remember doing with him. He either wanted sex or an argument, not peace. She supposed things were different this time around. The shift in the way things worked eventually led her to speak, and when she did, the words just flowed without direction or thought.

"I wasn't lying in there," she said. "I can't actually remember having a 'friend' at any point. When I worked at the Black Sheep, I got along well with Tammy and Susan, the waitresses, but friends…just people who'd find out about…Dad."

"Why didn't you ever go to the cops about him?" Tig asked, voice soft but tense. "Some of the stuff Juice dug up…medical records and shit…why'd you go so long like that? You're damn lucky he didn't kill you."

She shook her head, willing away the mental images that popped up at the mention of 'medical records'. "I was young, stupid, he was the only family I had…shit if I know, pick a reason." Her face suddenly felt hot and she put her hands on her cheeks, trying to soothe the internal heat flare without success. She wanted to shift the conversation. "You got kids?" she asked.

She could almost feel him stiffen beside her. "Yeah," he finally said.

He most definitely didn't want her prying into his life, but she needed the distraction. "How many?"

"Two…two girls. Why are you asking that shit?"

"I dunno. Most men your age have kids, whether or not they're a part of their lives." She shot a sideways glance and could see his grimace in the flare from his cigarette butt. "You know all my dirty laundry," she said softly. "I just thought I might dig at you a bit. Sorry." She sighed and turned away again.

There was another quiet spell. "I was a shitty dad," he offered at last. "Even shittier husband…I was never cut out for that shit."

"Trust me," Holly said. "There's shittier than you."

"Yeah. Maybe." He took the last drag off his smoke and then flicked it away into the rapidly darkening evening. "Clay wants you to go underground for a while, until we can get this ATF thing solved."

"How far under the ground is 'underground'?"

"Not as in dead," he muttered. "Up at the cabin. A guy or two would go up with you, keep an eye out, give Clay and me a chance to get rid of Stahl."

"Okay…what happens after that?"

"I dunno," he said truthfully.

"When would I leave?"

"Tomorrow morning."

Holly barked a humorless laugh and then covered her mouth, half afraid it might turn into tears. She took several deep breaths, pulling herself back together. When she was sure she wasn't going to cry, she shifted sideways and closer to Tig, until she could rest a hand on his thigh. She wanted to straddle his lap but was afraid she might tumble down the sheer side of the loading ramp. She leaned into him instead, letting him feel her tits against his arm, sliding her hand up his thigh. If she was going to leave, she wanted something to take with her, and something to make him want her to come back.

He turned and found her mouth as if by old habit, kissed her until she rose up on her knees and pressed against the side of his body, anxious to show him just what he did for her.

He tangled a hand in her hair and pulled her backward, breaking the kiss. His fingers moved through the strands, alternating tugs with caresses. "It looks better dark," he said as he leaned back towards her again. He kissed the tender patch of skin where her neck met the hollow of her throat. "So much better," he whispered against her flesh, raising goosebumps.

"Come up to the apartment with me," Holly let her eyes flutter shut, relishing the feel of his tongue on her skin. She latched onto the front of his shirt in an effort to pull him closer.

"Why?" he asked, voice amused, before he bit the side of her neck. It wasn't gentle, but not brutish, just hard enough to leave a nice mark.

"Jesus…you know why," she breathed.

He had one hand at the small of her back and slid his free one between her legs, rubbing her through her jeans. She moved her hips into the touch, becoming overly anxious. "I seem to remember fucking you up against your car once," he said against her ear.

He'd been going to the dive bar in Lodi for weeks, watching her, but not expecting anything. That first night they'd been too hurried to get to a house or a bed; he'd just pushed her up against the side of her Camaro and fucked her in the parking lot.

She was feeling like that again, like she didn't just want, but _needed _him inside of her, damn their surroundings or possible witnesses. She let go of his shirt so she could slide her hand beneath its hem, ghosting her palm up his bare chest. "Just shut up and fuck me," she said.

***

The groping proved not enough and Tig climbed down the drop-off and pulled Holly with him, pinning her back against the wall. She was so short he had to hold her upright, hands locked around her hips as he pumped inside her, each thrust seeming to drive further than the last. He was still fully dressed and he'd pulled her jeans down far enough to gain access, but not so far that she couldn't wrap her legs around his waist and pull him deeper inside her. There was something forbidden and hot about fucking standing up with their clothes on.

Both were too overheated and came before they wanted to, so they zipped up and carried the party back inside. It was easy enough to slip through the back door and then down the hall and finally up the short flight of stairs to the apartment.

This time Holly got her way and had him pushed back on the bed, sitting in his lap. Shirts were stripped and then her bra. He wanted her tits in his hands and mouth, wanted her to come undone. Then she slid down to the floor between his knees and took his dick in her mouth, taking him almost over the edge and then standing again, wanting him to finish inside her.

She never had before because of bad memories and remembered trauma, but that night she let him take her on her hands and knees, the force of his thrusts nearly buckling her down to the mattress. He nipped her bare shoulders and the back of her neck, pulled her hair to a point of pain that brought her an odd pleasure. His fingers left deep bruises on her hips and Holly didn't think she'd ever been so soundly fucked in her life.

Afterward, when he'd flopped down beside her and they lay side by side, staring at the dark ceiling, he started in on the instructions.

"Whoever goes with you…and it'll probably be Juice and Sack…do what they say even if they sound retarded, they're just following orders. Keep the gun in your bag and on the nightstand when you sleep, ready in case you have to wake up shooting…" he prattled off stern orders and Holly listened with half an ear, spent and sleepy.

"…You got all that?" he asked when finished.

"Yeah," she said sleepily, pulling up the sheet. Her eyelids felt weighted down.

The mattress springs creaked as he climbed out of bed. She heard him dress, knew he was leaving and was oddly okay with the thought.

"Hey, Tigger?" she mumbled before he could slip out.

"What?"

"Thank you…you know…for…"

He kissed her lips, silencing her slurred, pre-sleep speech. "Be up by eight thirty," he said sternly, but his hand trailed down her body and gave her ass a light squeeze as he walked away.

Holly rolled onto her side and inhaled deeply. The sheets smelled like him; sleep would come easy.

**TBC**


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: I feel like I finally hit my stride with this chapter. It's been like that first mile on the treadmill up until now, the one that you think you can't finish, but then the next two seem to fly by and you could run for hours. I figured out how I want to end this, hit my second mile so to speak, and hopefully I can update soon. My eyes are shot from a day outside in the cold and the wind so I'm sure I missed some typos…apologies.**

* * *

At eight fifteen, Holly had her bag and purse over her shoulder, the purse heavy with the weight of the .357, and was rooting through the fridge for something she could eat on the go. She wrinkled her nose at the thought of a roast beef sandwich this early in the morning.

"Holly!" Tig yelled from the door, splitting her name into two words. Hol- lay.

She sighed. "Coming," she muttered, snagging a Slim Jim off the counter and a cold Coke. Breakfast of champions.

Tig had the main door of the clubhouse propped open with one arm, shades on and looking even more tense than usual. "You got all your shit?" he asked as she ducked under his arm and out into the parking lot.

"Yep."

He nodded as he walked beside her. "We're gonna pull the same trick on the feds; Bobby and I'll ride escort for your car while you, Sack and Juice head out the other way."

"Am I gonna ride with one of them?" Holly asked, wishing she would have her arms wrapped around him instead.

"Naw, got you a loner ride."

She shot him a questioning look that he ignored and they kept walking.

Around the side of the clubhouse, parked beside the tow truck and several clunkers that were obviously being used for parts, was a yellow El Camino. Gemma was leaned in through the open passenger door, setting grocery bags in the floorboards.

Holly paused and shaded her eyes with her hand, making sure she was seeing the color right. "Yellow?" she asked with barely veiled disgust.

"Butternut squash," Tig corrected. His tone was defensive. "It's ugly as shit, I know, but…I dunno…never got around to repainting the thing."

She shot him a look, taking in his frown. _Oops _she thought. _Didn't take him for an El Camino kinda guy. _"Yours?" she asked.

He nodded once. "It runs alright, it'll get you up there."

She was a bit taken aback. Tig was sending her in his car? That either spoke volumes, or he really didn't give a shit about the thing. Somehow, she suspected it was the first one.

"Jax was gonna let you take his truck, but…I uh…figured you had a thing for Chevys," he added, sounding awkward.

Holly bit back a smile. "Yeah. I do."

Gemma finished and slammed the door, joining them. "There's enough grub in there to feed you and the kids for the better part of a week," the Queen said, settling her fists on her hips and looking down at her over the rims of her shades. She sighed, like she still couldn't believe Holly had caused them all of this drama. "Try not to get into any more trouble up there, alright?"

"She won't," Tig answered for her, then immediately scowled like he hadn't meant to say it. "Here," he shoved the keys to the El Camino at her to cover for his slip. "Don't wreck the goddamn thing."

"'Course not," Holly said.

Gemma muttered something under her breath and strutted off with a stern look to Tig; one that seemed to say 'keep your little tart in line'.

Holly heard bikes fire up behind her and then registered the familiar rumble of her Camaro. Everyone was getting ready to pull off the switch. She shot a look over her shoulder and saw that Juice, Half-Sack and Bobby were already mounted and waiting. She sighed, curling her fingers around the keys. She had this stupid urge to hug Tig, kiss him even; one last bit of contact before she went back into hiding for a bit. She reminded herself that it was temporary this time, just until the MC could shake Stahl, but the separation still stung. And then there was the panic-inducing uncertainty about what would happen to her after the shit storm passed. She didn't like to think about that part.

"Hey, Tig?"

"What?" he was snappy, impatient.

She didn't care. "I'm a little freaked out about all this-,"

"So get over it," he said. But he squeezed her shoulder as he walked off. "We'll be in touch with the guys," he said, voice softening. "We'll let you all know when it's safe to come home."

Home.

She took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay."

***

"That was some kinda smooth, brother," Bobby said.

Tig nodded as he settled his helmet on one of his handlebars. Holly's escape had gone off without a hitch. The feds had pulled out behind him, Bobby and Lowell in the Camaro and the little idiots had snuck the girl out the back gate. Stage one had been a success.

"Hey."

Tig snapped his head around to find Bobby off his bike and standing beside him. He was still mounted on his own, staring off at the fence like a space cadet.

"You alright?" Bobby asked.

"Fine."

There was a pause, a moment in which the sounds of garage clatter filled the silence and Tig let the breeze mess with his hair. Then Bobby said ", She's not what I expected. I like her. Cute as a button, but not what I thought I'd ever see with you."

Tig frowned at nothing. "What're you talking about?"

"Your girl."

His face split with that sick, non-smile of his. "Not _my girl_," he said with a snort. "You assholes have overactive imaginations."

"Whatever," Bobby sighed and ambled away.

Tig raked a hand back through his hair, wondering what the hell she was exactly if she wasn't his girl. The only thing he knew for sure was that she'd only been gone a matter of minutes and the faces were back. Donna was back. The voices too.

***

From just outside his office, his _own _office he thought with a snort of frustration, Hale could peep through the cracked door and watch Stahl's hand twitch her pen through a series of nervous baton twirls. She was having a pow-wow with her underlings and was talking loud enough that he caught the main gist of things in fits and snatches.

"You know, it is _your _office," a voice said to his right.

He glanced sideways and found Unser giving him a look that suggested he was an idiot. "Stahl," he explained sharply and returned to his eavesdropping.

"Oh, what's the word then?"

Hale didn't respond immediately and the chief sighed. "Oh that's right, I forgot you're just helping her look after Charming's best interests."

Unser trudged off and his Deputy Chief followed, pissed. "You have no right to act like any of this is my fault-,"

"No, I don't," Unser turned. "But maybe you'd like to ride out to T-M and explain that fact to Opie Winston?"

No answer.

"Yeah. That's what I thought."

"I'm not helping her this time," Hale protested. He lowered his voice, sounding strained. "I had _no _idea that what happened to Donna was coming…not until it was too late. I haven't cooperated with Stahl for shit this time around."

"She's in your office, isn't she?"

"I…" Hale clamped his mouth shut, teeth clicking together inside his head. He had no answers. He was helpless against the whims of ATF and the thought was beginning to take its toll on his sanity.

Unser worked his lined, tired face into a somewhat softer expression. He put a hand at Hale's elbow and towed him further down the hall. "Look, I know you want to slap bracelets on every Son yourself and drag 'em behind a squad car on the way in. But in this instance, you need to prioritize your beefs. That bitch in there," he jerked a thumb back towards the office ", is pure evil. SAMCRO's a lot of things, but evil ain't one of 'em. Time to do what's right, son, even if it don't make you happy."

Hale sighed and rubbed at his temple. "I suppose you and Clay already have some master plan worked out?"

The old man grinned. "We might."

***

Holly wadded up the last of the plastic shopping bags and stowed it in the trash. The narrow counters of the cabin's kitchen were now overflowing with cereal, cookies, crackers, and all the non-perishable stuff that she hadn't been forced to stuff in the fridge. Gemma had some ambitious ideas about their eating habits. Then again, Juice hadn't gotten to be such a beefcake on granola bars and diet soda.

She glanced into the living room where both of her chaperones were stretched across the sofa, watching some sort of sporting event that caused both of them to _ooh _and _oh _every few seconds.

"You guys want some dinner?" she asked.

Both their heads snapped towards her, eyes wide. "You're gonna cook?" Juice asked.

"Man, she made breakfast the other morning," Half-Sack said with remembered appreciation.

"Shit, where was I?"

"Gemma bought some ground beef and noodles, I could make spaghetti," she offered.

Their grins were answer enough.

***

Of all the things Stahl had expected out of the Sons, this certainly wasn't one of them. Jax Teller sat across from her in the interrogation room, the perfect picture of calm, a lit cigarette between his fingers despite the NO SMOKING sign on the wall behind him.

She glided her palms across the table, bringing them together at the end and hitching curled hands up under her chin, like she could physically draw his attention. "I gotta say, Jax," she said slowly. "You really know how to keep a girl guessing."

He quirked a quick smile that she knew had landed countless bitches in his bed. "Yeah."

She leaned forward. "You know, something tells me stepdaddy didn't sanction this little visit."

The SAMCRO VP shrugged. "What he don't know, right?" He leaned forward, smile widening. "Did you wanna talk club bullshit, or do you wanna know where the girl is?"

Stahl tilted her head. She had to admit that she was impressed with his audacity, his willingness to make a tough decision for the betterment of the club. He was offering up the Prez and Sgt at Arms on a silver platter through the little tart they'd been hiding. Of course, poor little Jackson thought she would just stop there. Idiot.

"Okay," she grinned. "Let's hear it."

***

Something heavy settled itself across Tig's shoulders that evening as they waited for Jax to return. He wasn't used to feeling the normal human repertoire of emotions, so he had trouble putting a name to the sensation. Whenever that happened, he liked to make comparisons. This reminded him of the night they'd retrieved their guns from Alvarez. That prickling at the back of his mind, like anticipation, and the obvious way his heart pounded. Worry, that's what it was, he was worried.

Realizing his biological responses to the scheduled course of events just pissed him off. Top that off with the mass amounts of whiskey he'd sucked down to chase away Donna, and he was all fucked up. He was mad that he hadn't gotten rid of Holly sooner, and even madder that she was proving to be his divining rod for sanity. Without her, all he could hear were the voices. Voices that didn't stand him in good stead for the mayhem they'd planned for the following night. He needed to do something to blow off some steam.

He debated joining Chibs and Bobby at the pool table and instead sought out Clay. The President was working on a cigar outside, leaned back on the bench of a picnic table, his boots propped up on the one across from him. He didn't look up as Tig approached and propped a foot up on the bench, too antsy to sit.

"You're twitchy," Clay observed without turning.

"No shit."

"Look," Clay sighed. "I know Jax hasn't exactly been Mr. Team Spirit lately, but he won't fuck this up. This is about all of us."

Tig nodded. That wasn't what he was so whacked out about.

The President sighed again. "It's not your fault," he said heavily.

Tig snapped his head around, wondering if he'd said something out loud that he hadn't intended.

Clay shrugged and looked almost disgusted. "You got that goddamn guilty look on your face again. This shit with the girl, while a major pain in the ass, is…well…I shoulda seen something like this coming after the…_incident_."

"What're you talking about?" He left out the 'fuck' because he knew it wouldn't be received well.

"You know," Clay said firmly. "The thing with her old man, her whole savior thing, I get that it's the guilt that makes you act…"

"Act what?" Tig was getting pissed.

"Like you give a shit."

That was the exact wrong thing to hear when he was already stumbling through his goddamn _feelings _or whatever they were. Clay could see it, Bobby could see it…Jesus, he needed a drink, a smoke, a hooker, a punching bag, anything to get his head screwed back on straight. They had some deep shit going down in the next day or two.

"It's alright," Clay sounded exasperated, like he was talking to a child. "I can't say I want a bitch crashing at the clubhouse all the time, but I'll let you keep her around."

Tig hung his head, ashamed that he'd let things come to this, embarrassed that he couldn't keep up his mask in front of the man he was charged with guarding.

"I don't expect your priorities to get tangled," Clay warned.

"Absolutely not."

Clay nodded.

There was a rumble at the gate and the headlamp on Jax's Dyna pierced the rapidly darkening sky. The VP was parked and striding toward them in a matter of seconds.

"How'd it go?" Clay asked when he was near enough.

Jax nodded and dragged a hand back through his blonde locks. "Unless the bitch is a better actress than I think, she bought it."

"You sure?"

"Hook, line and fucking sinker."

"Good," Clay ground out his cigar on top of the table.

Jax's eyes flicked over and met Tig's for a fraction of a second. A look that expressed their mutual hatred passed between them, but was covered with a resignation. They never had any hope of being true "brothers", but they could make it work, had to in order for the club to stay intact. And as much as he hated to admit it, Tig was glad at least one man in Charming had been decent enough to get Holly the fuck away from him. He could give the VP some deserved credit in the chivalry department.

Thinking about Holly had the darkness flaring inside him again. Like his system was so used to foul things it rejected anything warm. "You need me tonight?" he asked Clay.

The President shook his head.

***

Tig chose this particular Crow Eater because she was the complete opposite of Holly. Of course, that's not what he told himself in his head, but deep down, under all the mucky layers of poison in his veins, he knew that was the reason.

Ever since Holly had been "resurrected", that possessive, protective instinct had flared up afresh. But with the knowledge of her safety, he'd started to feel closed in. Like he was being strangled. He couldn't stand those wide-eyed, slightly amazed looks she gave him, like she fucking adored him or something. It wasn't right, he wasn't comfortable with her unwavering faith in him, and was so wound up that he needed to fuck someone who was only wanting to get off. No sweet looks, no saying his name…none of that bullshit. He needed to keep his upstairs head in the game, which meant giving the other head what it needed.

Her name was Carly, or Candace…Candy, something like that. He didn't know or care. She'd been hanging around the club for a while. Tig knew she'd been with Bobby, Chibs and Happy on previous occasions and they'd had nothing to complain about when they staggered back into the common room. She was probably closer to forty than she wanted to admit, tall, 5'9" maybe, thick around the middle and curvy as hell. She was a redhead, but dyed the under layers jet black and tied up the top half, showing off the split look. Brunette and redhead; two for one special.

She had on a black, Wal-Mart skirt with a lot of Spandex in it and a gold halter top that did nothing to conceal the mounds of silicone that stretched the skin tight over her breasts. Tig hated fake tits, like squeezing unripe grape fruits. But he wasn't interested in her top half tonight…hell, front half either.

"Where you wanna do this, sugar?" she purred as they walked around the front of the clubhouse. She was tipsy and staggered every few steps on her fuck-me shoes.

Tig sighed, not answering as he led her to the far side of the building, down the alley between the clubhouse and the property fence. He stopped when they reached the shadows and she giggled, the sound too deep and raspy to achieve the level of cuteness she was going for.

"Ooh, up against the wall, huh?" she asked. Her eyes were glazed over, painted mouth pulled in a lopsided smile. She ran her red nails down the strip of t-shirt visible between the two halves of his cut.

Something in him snapped, made him physically growl. "No touching!" he ordered. He grabbed her wrists and twisted her hands away from him so hard she gasped. Then just as quickly, he spun her around and pushed her face first into the wall. She was breathing hard, he could see her bare shoulders heaving, and for the first time since he'd picked her out of the evening's line-up, he was turned on.

The Crow Eater braced her hands against the cinderblock wall, resigned. Tig didn't waste time. He pulled her hips out away from the wall, tilted them to his liking, and hiked her cheap skirt up over her ass. He reached between her legs, moved the silky scrap of her thong aside, and tested her readiness. She wasn't as wet as he would have liked, didn't weep for him like…he pushed thoughts of the girl out of his mind and drove into the Crow Eater.

To her credit, Candy or whatever the hell her name was took the beating. Because that's what it was, a beating. He was rough and merciless and when he was done he turned around and zipped up, not even looking at her. He could hear her rearranging her clothes, registered the rustle of her hair as she tossed it around, and then her heels retreated across the pavement.

Tig stared absently off into the night and dug a cigarette out of his cut. He'd needed that, needed to do something brutal to prepare himself for the day and night to come. Something to reaffirm the darkness inside him. Well, mission accomplished.

He snuffed out his smoke and headed back into the clubhouse.

**TBC**


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Wow, school is back and she's a mean bitch. This makes updating difficult, but I'll need the stress relief from writing. Hopefully you'll hang on with my slowness. And this chap is filler. The next one will get the ball rolling on the climax.**

* * *

Holly ran the tines of her fork through the little puddle of Ragu left over on her plate. That was solid meal, what, number four? Five maybe? It was as if her taste buds were functioning properly again. The company helped too.

She sat on the couch, sandwiched between Juice and Half-Sack who had already finished eating and were holding their plates awkwardly in their laps. She nearly rolled her eyes when she thought about how pampered the men in this life were. Sure there were turf wars and shoot-outs, run-ins with the ATF and FBI and DEA and countless other law enforcement agencies, but as far as domestic work went, the Sons were waited on hand and foot. Their world was one of days past, when women did all the cooking cleaning, clothes mending and child rearing. Men brought home the bacon and kept everyone safe. Holly knew there were some feminist types who would have pitched a fit over that kind of life, but it made sense to her. She wasn't jonesing to become an astrophysicist anytime soon, so what did she need with a whole bunch of female empowerment? Besides, try telling Gemma Morrow she wasn't the head of her household.

She rose and pulled their dishes away, stacking them on top of hers as she headed for the kitchen. Both gave her sheepish grins.

"Thanks, Holly, that was really good," Half-Sack had the presence of mind to offer in the unsure, wavering voice of his.

"You won't be thanking me when I get back," she chuckled as she deposited the dishes in the sink and ran water over them. She had already washed and put away her pots and pans; she'd wash these the next morning.

"Why?" Juice asked distractedly. They were watching _The Real World _and Juice had become terribly engrossed in the manufactured drama.

"Because," Holly settled back into her position on the sofa ", I'm stealing the remote." She snatched it up off the coffee table and they both groaned.

"You're not gonna make us watch _Project Runway _or some shit, are you?" Half-Sack whined.

"Maybe," she teased with a straight face. She flipped through the channels, looking for something that might catch her interest.

"Ooh, Animal Planet," Juice said as she clicked past some documentary on crocodiles. The scene flashed by in a hurry, but she caught an eyeful of the scaly bastard dragging a zebra into the watering hole.

"Definitely not."

He sighed.

She paused on E! because she was a shameless whore for celebrity gossip. She quickly changed the channel though when she realized the network was showing a rerun of _The Girls Next Door_. No need for the boys to get all…excited…while she was sitting there with them.

Holly was about to give up hope on the satellite TV and its two hundred channels until she landed on one of her favorite movies; _Gone With the Wind_. She smiled when she realized it had just started.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Juice waved at the screen. "Seriously? This is old as shit, _and _the chicks aren't even wearing anything hot. No way."

Holly glanced sideways at him and nearly laughed when she saw that his eyes were huge with seriousness, face all scrunched up and tinged blue from the glow of the TV. He really was the cutest damn thing she'd ever seen; even when he thought he was being fierce.

"It's a really good movie," she reasoned. "Just give it a shot."

"My mom used to like it," Half-Sack offered, not wanting to piss Tig's girl off too badly. Holly couldn't do anything to them, but later…Tig was a different story.

"Come on, Juice," Holly prodded. "Give it twenty minutes, you don't like, we'll find something else."

He made another face, then shrugged. "Fine, be ready to change the channel."

***

Tig made a grab for the Jack and it was an awkward reach all the way over to his nightstand. He twisted his elbow at a bad angle and winced. All the shots he'd consumed hadn't helped with the whole depth perception thing. He finally reached the bottle of whiskey, tipped it sideways toward his glass…only to find it was empty. Had he really had that much? All by himself?

"Fuck," he muttered, scrubbing a hand across his blurry eyes. After his escapade with the Crow Eater, getting shitfaced had just seemed like the thing to do. As his stomach rolled, he regretted that logic. And then something worse happened; his drunken mind started to think about things.

The first image that popped into his brain was Holly. He closed his eyes, willing her away, but she stayed, all dark hair and pixie face and big smile. Not one woman, be she a Crow Eater, his ex, his girls…no one had ever looked at him the way Holly did. Part hero worship, part actual affection. He supposed she had serious daddy issues and maybe even some dementia.

And maybe he was a weak-ass motherfucker for not being able to handle all that idolization. Attachment only led to heartache and trouble and bitches yelling at you to get your ass home at night. The scary part was, Holly wasn't like that. She would take as much or as little of him as she could get and not ask for more. He didn't deserve even that much. Pulling her in and pushing her away seemed equally cruel. He was royally fucked either way.

In a bold and maybe stupid move, he pawed his cell off the nightstand and brought it to his ear. He might regret this later, but he was too drunk to care at the moment.

***

Holly shot a sideways look at Juice. Twenty minutes and not only was he not complaining about the movie, he was providing a running commentary. He couldn't seem to tear his eyes from the screen as he mined through a bag of Tostitos. "Damn," he chuckled. "That Scarlet is a _skank_, man. And what the fuck kinda name is Ashley for a dude?"

"I dunno," Holly couldn't help but tease. "What the fuck kinda name is Juice?"

That got his attention. He gave her a stern look that was totally out of place and kind of stupid on him. "I'm _trying _to pay attention to this movie because you like it." He hinted at a grin and grabbed the remote. "But if you're gonna be like that…"

"I'm sorry," she said on a chuckle.

He arched his brows.

"Really…Juice is a fantastic name."

"Uh-huh," he rolled his eyes and turned away, unable to hide his smile anymore. "Just shut up and watch the movie."

Sack had been politely feigning interest in the entire proceeding and leapt to his feet when his phone went off. "Yeah?" he answered, heading toward the front door.

Holly craned a look over her shoulder and watched the Prospect slip outside. "Girlfriend?" she asked with a chuckle as she faced forward again.

Juice cracked a chip in two and stalled his answer as he popped it into his mouth. He didn't meet her gaze.

"Oh…right," she sighed. It must be one of the guys, calling to make sure they were all behaving themselves and not getting arrested. The reminder that she wasn't hanging out with friends, but was actually a captive of sorts, doused her good mood like a bucket of cold water. She settled deeper into the ratty confines of the sofa and passed the remote over to Juice. "Here, I've seen this movie a hundred times. Watch whatever."

He took the clicker and started surfing through the channels, but she could tell he was watching her from the corner of her eye. "Can…can I ask you something?" he said at last.

"Sure." Holly stared at the flickering TV and figured nothing he wanted to know could be any worse than what she'd already revealed about herself.

"Why didn't you just take the deal Stahl offered? I mean, what did you have to gain coming back here?"

She didn't face him because she didn't want to see the question in his puppy dog eyes. With a sigh, she decided that the answer lay all the way back at the beginning.

"There was no way out," she said softly. The volume meter sprang to life on the TV and its rumble dimmed. She continued. "Dad wouldn't work, I wasn't making enough money…you know, on TV they make it out like people see themselves as victims. Like they want out and are always looking to run for it. There was no way out. There was work and paying the bills and…and…"

Juice's hand settled on her shoulder and squeezed gently. Holly realized there were tears burning at the backs of her eyes, but she needed to get this off her chest. She needed the closure.

"You stop fighting after a while," she said on a whisper. "You just give up because there's no way out and not one person can help you." She looked at Juice for the first time and the expression on his face was heartbreaking. Like even after all the shit he'd seen in the MC, her story was hard to swallow.

"And then I met Tig," Holly said. She was surprised at her own tone of voice. Her words became more solid, less shaky when she said his name. "I knew without question he was the one."

Juice frowned. "No offense, but Tig's not exactly _the one _for anybody…"

She shook her head. "Not like that. I know what he is. He was the first man to stagger into that bar who scared the everloving shit outta the rest of the customers. People moved away from him at the bar. I saw the tats, the rings…he was the one most unlike my father. He was a _man_."

Understanding dawned on the young biker's face.

"He saved me," she said. "He saved me and I owe him everything. It doesn't matter what Stahl throws at me, whether Clay wants to keep me locked up tight. Whatever happens, Tig saved me and there isn't a worse hell than the one I came from."

Juice was taken aback by the clarity and firmness with which she spoke. He had always figured that a victim of domestic violence would be a shattered, hopeless individual. Then again, one of his mother's friends had been beaten by her husband and had never let on. She'd hidden her bruises and with long sleeves and glasses and always wore a smile despite the pain. If anything, the abuse had sharpened Holly's compass. She knew only one evil, that bastard father who'd beaten and raped her. Everything and everyone else was on the other end of the spectrum. Tig had saved her, the club had saved her, and she would give up her newfound freedom to return the favor.

"Now, can I ask _you _something?" she asked, startling him back to their positions on the couch.

"Yeah."

Her fine features were blue and flickered with the images on the TV screen, her eyes strange in the low light. "Clay…he'll have me killed before he lets the feds get a hold of me, won't he?"

Juice was silent. He hated the thought of the truth, really did. This wasn't some drug dealer or Nord or Mayan or scumbag. This was a twenty-seven-year-old girl who looked like she was maybe nineteen. She was an innocent.

"Juice?"

He swallowed hard. "Yeah. That's the plan."

***

Agent Harding peeled back the wrapper on his Baby Ruth like the skin of a banana, slowly and piece by piece. He tried and failed to pretend that he was sinking his teeth into a rib eye.

It was sometime after nine p.m. and he was leaned back against the front fender of his unmarked cruiser in the parking lot of Charming's version of a Seven Eleven. Not one fucking franchise in the whole goddamn town. Made his skin itch. Add that to the fact that he'd been given a shit surveillance gig for the evening, and he was in a fabulous mood.

Stahl's eyes had been alight with the murderous gleam of hers at their sit-down. The little prince had gone and turned in stepdaddy and that crazy shithead with the hair, so the rest of the task force was out for a rendezvous of the handcuff and blue light kind. He, however, was the youngest member of Stahl's crew, and therefore had been sent trolling for stray bikers. Apparently, the one who looked about twelve and mohawk boy had disappeared. Smith and Estevez had been sitting on the garage and said they hadn't shown all afternoon. Suspicious.

Harding checked his watch and sighed. He had another three hours before he reported back in. It was going to be a long night.

***

Stahl checked her watch, then repositioned the binoculars in front of her eyes. A little after nine and so far the Sons had been a no-show at the house they'd been sitting on. From behind the wheel, Agent Estevez cracked his gum loudly and huffed a bored sigh. Stahl lowered the binoculars slowly, turning to her junior partner with deliberate slowness.

"I'm sorry, Rick, this not exciting enough for you?"

He had the good graces to flush a little. "No, ma'am…just tired is all."

"Uh-huh," she muttered, turning back to surveying the clearing they were nosed up to. In the center of a two hundred by three hundred break in the trees, a ramshackle little three bedroom dump sagged like it had given up its fight against Mother Nature. The shack was decades old and no longer a color actually classified by Home Depot paint swatches. Weeds grew in thick, inconsistent clumps around the foundation. The windows were cracked or missing. Only one shutter still clung to the worm-eaten siding.

"You better not be fucking with me, Teller," she said under her breath.

***

Jax drove the last nail through the two-by-four and set his hammer down on the picnic table. In the glow from the security lamp above the clubhouse door, the points of the long roofing nails glittered like daggers. He nodded, satisfied.

Beside him, Opie finished his own set of spike strips and let his tools clatter down to the wood loudly.

Jax shot him a quick look, judging the stress lines on his face. "You a'ight, bro?" he asked softly.

Ope nodded, but didn't speak.

It had been a stupid question really, and Jax knew it. Opie would never be alright. He was dying the slow, excruciating death of a soul that had been dosed with more grief than it was capable of handling. It wasn't just that Donna was dead. Or that the club had betrayed him. Or that the club had tried to kill him. It was all three rolled into one. And as much as Jax liked to think that he was tougher than his friend, he knew he wasn't. He would have gone off like a cherry bomb; hurting, killing, tearing apart anything and everything that had caused him his pain.

But Opie remained quiet, calculating, calm…a bomb. _Tick – tick – tick – _All they had to do was wait for the _BOOM! _

_***_

Kip snapped his phone closed and stared at the ID bar across the front of the Motorola until the light went out. He shifted his gaze up to the net of stars that had been haphazardly thrown across the velvet backdrop of the night sky. In Charming proper, he could see the stars still, but they were brighter out here. They shone with purpose. Fierce. Kind of like they had in Iraq. Same sky, completely different world.

He shook away thoughts of the past and instead tried to analyze the situation at hand. He'd expected a check-in with SAMCRO Grand Central, but hadn't thought it would be Tig. The Sgt at Arms had been shitfaced and sloppy on the other end, his voice that of someone with stage four lung cancer. Or Happy.

Kip liked to think that he was a listener, not a talker, and as such, observed things that others might miss. He didn't fool himself, he knew he was on the stupid end of the SAMCRO scale of smarts, but he knew when someone wasn't acting like he should. He knew now that Tig was all kinds of tangled. Holly was a complicating factor none of them had foreseen, Tig himself even, and he wasn't going to be able to let her go. What he planned on doing with her was a different story, but giving her up…that so wasn't going to happen.

Unsatisfied with the answers the night offered him, he went back inside, locked the door, and was thankful to find Bruce Willis tearing across the TV screen in his dirty wifebeater. Juice now manned the remote and he and Holly were watching _Die Hard _with a fair amount of stiff detachment.

Holly stood when he came around the sofa. "Going to bed," she told them, heading off in the direction of the bedroom.

"Tig?" Juice asked once she was gone.

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

Juice rolled his eyes. "Damn, I'm so fucking tired of this soap opera shit."

"Amen to that," Kip said with a sigh, reaching for the Tostitos that had been abandoned on the coffee table.

***

Stahl rolled her head around on her neck and sighed when it cracked loudly. The night's surveillance had been a bust. Jax had told her that the swap would take place the next night, but she'd wanted to be sure…now all she had was a whole lot of jack shit and a stiff neck.

She dropped her bag unceremoniously on Hale's desk and did likewise with her ass and the chair. Across from her, Estevez and Smith were quiet and obedient. As much as she liked being followed blindly, she despised their lack of balls. Made her sick actually.

"Get me on the phone with our witness," she said to Smith. She needed something positive this evening. "It's time for Mr. Jeremy to sing."

**TBC**


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Wow, I said climax last time, huh? I usually catch my inadvertent dirty jokes…anyway, there's a scene in this chap that I actually wrote before any of the rest of the story. I didn't know how it would fit then, and I'm still not sure if it does. If it doesn't jump out at you as weird, I'll assume it fits okay! Sometimes I wonder why I gave Holly such a difficult past to overcome, I fight back and forth between writing her as traumatized vs. oddly adjusted. Most of the time oddly adjusted wins out and I hope that reads as believable. I actually knew a girl once who'd been…well, not treated right at home…and she was quiet, but not a nervous mess. It's sad to think about, but sometimes victims just learn to shut up and take it. **

**Okay, done justifying my choices. As always, reviews feed the muse!**

* * *

Holly hadn't really thought she'd be able to sleep, but she realized she must have when she jerked awake at the sound of her cell going off. She squinted at the red digits on the bedside clock as she pawed for her phone. Just after midnight. There was a large part of her still-asleep brain that told her to roll over and go back to sleep. But situations being what they were…

"…'Lo?" she mumbled sleepily.

Heavy, panted breathing came through from the other line.

Holly sighed. "Tig?"

More panting.

Something akin to fear tickled at the base of her neck, making the fine hairs stand on end. "Who is this?"

Still no response.

"Listen, you pervert - ,"

"Hannah?" The voice was so low and strained that she could barely make out the word, and when she did, she stopped her own breathing. "Hannah…it's me, it's Jeremy."

Holly closed her eyes and conjured up an image of the skinny, freckle-faced stock boy from Denver. She could see with perfect clarity the eagerness in his smile as he'd asked her to go see his friend's band with him. That conversation seemed a lifetime ago.

And then another conversation came to mind, the one that had been taking place around the redwood table the night before. The police chief had said that Stahl finally had a witness, one they were moving into wit pro. Chibs had asked if she'd had any friends. She'd mentioned Jeremy and Tig had asked if she'd talked to him…Oh, Jesus Christ. Stahl had Jeremy. He was the witness. That stupid little shit.

Holly took a deep breath and felt an odd strength flood her system. "Jeremy," she started slowly ", if you've talked to who I think you've talked to, you know damn well my name isn't Hannah."

There was a long pause and Holly thought he might have hung up.

"Why'd you talk to the feds, Jeremy? Huh? You didn't even _know _anything to tell them about me. What'd you do, make shit up?"

"I didn't want to get you in trouble," he said, sounding like he might be crying. "I swear I didn't…but she said you were trouble, those people who took you…"

"Nobody _took _me, Jeremy. I left."

"That cop," he said as if she hadn't spoken. "She told me about the bikers who have you -,"

"They don't have me-,"

"She said you were in danger-,"

"Jeremy!" Holly snapped, finally shutting him up. "God, for once shut your goddamn mouth and listen to me."

Another long pause made her think she might have gone too far. She didn't really want to hurt him, but he was inadvertently hurting her, and that couldn't go on anymore. "I'm going to tell you something," she started in a much more level tone. "And if you're smart, you'll listen to me. That cop, the ATF agent you've signed on with, she isn't after my best interest, yours either. Jeremy, you need to get away from her, just run, go somewhere, but don't help her."

"But, Han -,"

"Stop. Stop calling me that."

"What happened to you?"

Holly gritted her teeth against the words she wanted to shout at him. In his own misguided, naïve way, Jeremy thought he was helping. He was going to put the whole club behind bars, but he was trying to do right by her. "When you met me…that's not who I really am. I was running from something."

Silence.

"Jeremy, when I left Cali, I left it owing someone a big favor. A saved-my-life kind of favor. I came back here to try and keep that ATF agent away from…" the only man who'd ever done right by her, "my friends. I care about these people, they've helped me a lot and I don't want them to get in trouble."

"Friends?" he asked weakly. "But I…"

"No," she said firmly. "I'm never coming back to Denver. Never. This is my home. If you want to be my friend, you'll do right by my people."

***

When it came, the dawn was turquoise. Tig had seen it every shade of orange, pink, magenta, red, even maroon once, but this was his first turquoise morning. It unnerved him, made him think the day to come was significant or something. Maybe significantly bad.

He reached for the tumbler of Maker's Mark and water beside him on the picnic table, that old Nazareth song echoing dimly inside his head. He'd always liked that one, especially the _messing with a son of a bitch _part. His ex had told him several times that it may as well have been his theme song…and she hadn't meant that in a good way.

The door opened behind him with a squeak and Tig expected any number of people to pull up next to him. But when he heard the scuff of boots and glanced sideways, he wouldn't have guessed that Opie would be standing there. A half a dozen scenarios in which Opie gutted him, shot him, tore his fucking head off his neck looped slowly through his brain, and oddly enough, Tig wasn't going to do a damn thing about it. He fished a smoke and his lighter out of his cut, lit up, and waited for the worst.

And then…nothing. Tig stared at the sky, watching the turquoise bleed into the darker patches of violet, bringing light to the world. The stars faded one at a time, dimming until they winked out altogether. The palest, robin's egg blue of a perfect spring day flared at the horizon, leaving the moon a translucent crescent at the very edge of visibility. Daylight had completely overtaken them before Opie spoke.

"It's gonna be a long day," he said in a voice full of gravel. "Lot to do…lot to get through."

Tig turned sideways, a cold, empty pit opening up in his gut at the sight of his brother. Opie was dead inside and it was his fault. "Ope -,"

"There's nothing you can say to me," Opie cut him off. He turned slightly, the black look in his eyes highlighted by the early morning shine. "But I want you to know…you _need _to know…that Holly's safe. Because no matter how much I want you dead, want you to hurt," he fixed Tig with a bloodless look, " I'm a better man than you."

The ridiculousness of the statement wasn't what rattled Tig, but the dark truth of it, and the fact that Opie actually felt the need to clarify things were disturbing. When he'd been promoted to Sgt at Arms, he'd known what came with it. You weren't charged with protecting the club like that because you were sick, but because you had a hard enough heart to _do _the sick things. You could make the hard call. You were only attached to your brothers and didn't need anyone to watch you back – that was your job. Protect. Serve. Clean up the blood and burn the bones when the others were shaking and pale and covered in so much violence they couldn't see straight. Tig remembered finishing a job that Jax and Opie had started; putting the final bullet in the Mayan the kids had tried to take down when they were nineteen. He could still see that empty look in Jax's eyes when he'd pried the gun from his stiff fingers and laid his hand on the side of his neck. _"Go home, kid. Clean up. I'll take care of this." _

No, he wasn't better, just harder, and now he would pay for all that loyalty and strength with the distrust of his brothers and the endless haunting of a woman who wasn't supposed to have died four months ago.

"I know, Ope," he said quietly. "I know."

***

Mid-afternoon saw Holly sitting at the poker table with the boys and munching pork rinds. Chibs had come up to check on things and tell Half-Sack that he would be needed for whatever they had planned for that evening.

The Scotsman pulled another handful of deep-fried pig skin strips out of the bag and then passed it back across the table to Holly. In what very well may have been a foolish move, she'd spilled all the details of her conversation with Jeremy the night before. If anything, Chibs seemed relieved. "Giving false info to trick witnesses…that's a new low for her," he said, shaking his head. He chewed a pork rind and squinted as he rolled something around in his head. "You really think the kid'll back out of his deal?"

Holly shrugged. "I don't guess it matters either way. He's not an actual witness since he doesn't know anything."

"Stahl's using him as a bluff," Juice said. "Get us all spooked."

"Yeah, but he called you," Half-Sack turned towards her. "I mean, that shows he at least feels guilty, right?"

Chibs gave her a veiled smile. "You blow him or somethin'?"

"No," Holly shook her head emphatically. "He's just one of those do-gooder guilty conscious types."

The Scot rolled his eyes toward Sack. "Huh, I wouldn't know any of those types, sweetheart."

Holly and Juice both cracked grins. The Prospect made a face.

The rest of the details were hammered out and then it was time for Chibs to go. He lit up as he stood, his smoke contributing to the mass cloud that Juice had put into the air during the impromptu meet. "You'll need to stay up here another day or so," he told Holly, aiming the end of his lit cigarette at her. "But soon as things settle, you can come home, kid."

There was that _home _word again. But this time, curiosity got the best of her.

"Chibs…when you say home…"

He frowned and made a snorting, groaning kind of sound that she for some reason attributed to his being Scottish. "Ach…he wants you home and you know it. Where else you gonna go?"

Holly smiled. "Thanks."

He winked at her, but it didn't ease her conscious. Every one of the Sons could get arrested tonight and she would feel responsible. Their acceptance of her just made the guilt worse.

***

"What do you mean _he backed out_?" Stahl screeched. She was close, so fucking close and her _morons _were fumbling through every turn.

Across the desk, Estevez squirmed inside his polyester suit coat. "We tried getting Denver PD out to his residence, but Jeremy Atkins is in the wind right now."

Stahl's breath left her in an angry rush. "How did this happen?" she demanded, leaning forward and bracing her palms against the desk. "I thought we had someone sitting on him?"

"Um…we did."

Furious didn't even begin to describe her emotional state. She'd finally scared the shit out of Holly Jessup's little co-worker pal and now he was missing. Stahl couldn't imagine that one of the Sons could have gotten to him so fast, but nothing else could have rattled him into bolting, not unless…._shit!_ The girl, it had to have been the girl. The little dope had been sporting a serious case of unrequited bullshit for Holly, that much had been plain in that puppy dog stare of his.

She growled a little and couldn't help it. "Nobody better fuck up tonight. I want this bitch. She has _no idea _who she's messing with."

***

Jax stood with his brothers in the T-M parking lot as the sun evacuated the landscape. Everyone was there, even Hap and a few of his Nomads who had agreed to step in should things not go according to plan. He noted that despite all the heartache and angst that had been on display for the past few days, the brothers were united tonight. It was time to do something about some of that heartache.

"We've been over this a hundred times already," Clay said at the head of the crowd, projecting his voice back to the rear. "But I'll say it again; everyone's careful tonight. Something ain't right, get your ass out. No heroes, no rogues. Nobody's gettin' locked up at the end of all this."

Murmured agreement rose up from the crowd.

The President glanced sideways where Tig stood at his shoulder. "Call him," he said. "Time to go."

***

Holly stepped out of the shower and wasn't as relaxed as she should have been after fifteen minutes under the hot jets. The night beyond the frosted glass of the bathroom window was dark. The SAMCRO boys would be doing whatever it was that was supposed get her off the hook. God, she felt guilty.

She was finger combing her wet hair, wearing nothing but a towel hooked up under her arms when the bathroom door opened without a knock. She kept her eye roll to herself as Juice poked his head in; she could have been naked for all he knew.

"Did Sack leave?" she asked, raking the dark strands away from her face.

She met his eyes through the mirror and he nodded. "Yeah. About ten minutes ago."

Holly sighed and shook her head.

"It's not your fault," he said as if reading her mind. "ATF's been after us for a while now."

"Yeah, but I didn't have to come back. Jesus…Tig was right."

Juice frowned and opened the door fully, propping up in the jamb. "About what?"

She shook her head again and turned, headed for the door so she could grab her clothes out of the bedroom. Juice stopped her with a gentle hold on her upper arm. She made an absent mental note that his hand was warm.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She glanced up and the kind, dark depths of his eyes were just too much to deal with. With someone like Tig, she could choke down the bad things, pretend she was alright. She had no idea how to deal with sweetness. "Nothing," she lied badly and tried to keep walking.

Juice tightened his hold. "What did Tig say?"

Holly closed her eyes. The night of the attack, through the pain and the haze of blood, she'd heard the voices. She had heard Tig say that she was better off dead. And when she'd come back he'd said she was stupid. He didn't _not _care, he'd proved as much, and he hadn't driven her away, but he had been right. He had been so right. She had come back and all she'd done was bring the feds down on the Sons. After everything they'd done for her. And now she damn sure didn't deserve Juice to look at her like this.

She didn't realize she was crying until she felt the pad of his thumb under her eye. She glanced up and realized they were now much too close, her back against the door frame, one of his hands brushing at her tears, the other at the base of her throat.

"I know you think he saved you," Juice's voice was uncharacteristically low. "But he can't be what you want him to."

"Stop," Holly placed a hand over his, moving his fingers from her face. "Juice, you don't mean -,"

He kissed her. It took about two seconds for her brain to process that his lips were against hers and they were incredibly full and soft and gentle as he tested her mouth with his own. For a moment, panic surged through her. A thousand reasons why this was wrong formed and died in her brain as he continued to just flirt with her lips. He didn't force her, didn't crush or demand. He asked, very sweetly, and all she wanted to do was let him in. And not just in her mouth. She was startled as her legs came apart, a slow swirl of heat licking up from between her thighs and settling in her belly.

His cologne was something dark and spicy smelling, adding to the delicious way his muscled chest rose and fell under her palm. He wasn't pushing her, wasn't…_attacking _her. He was so slow. He had looked at all her records, he knew what had been done to her. She had figured that only someone as fucked up as her could want her like this. But here he was, kissing her like she was special. His thumb stroked up and down the column of her throat and Holly sighed as she stepped into him and kissed him back.

That was the invitation he'd been waiting for. Juice closed the distance, pushing her back into the door jamb, pressing their bodies flush against one another. He was all solid muscle, his arousal a notable bulge against her hip. Holly swept a hand up the back of his neck, stretching up, pulling him closer. His skin was a delicious combination of cool on the surface and warm underneath, soft as satin. She arched her back, trying to get even closer and he deepened the kiss, pulling her bottom lip between both of his.

Holly wanted this, wanted both of them naked, all his luscious skin against hers. Wanted to see if those gentle lips of his would feel just as good against lower regions. She somehow knew that he would be magnificent on top of her, all rolling muscles and controlled thrusts designed to take her over the edge again and again. He was young and vital and his dick was a hot, hard lump through his jeans and her towel and it would feel oh so nice sliding inside her. The times in her life when she'd wanted a man for purely physical, sexual reasons had been few and far between. And now she wanted Juice. There was no logic, no reasoning with the impulse, just a warm compliance with the urges of her body.

Juice let his hands drop lower, one at the small of her back, the other working at the knot in the towel. _Yes _she thought, _take it off_.

And then an image of Tig flared inside her head and it was as clear as if he were standing in front of her. A tremor shot through her body and Juice moved faster, reading her actions as desire.

Holly pushed on his chest, forcing their lips to come smacking apart. A ragged, pained sound she didn't recognize tore out of her mouth as she pushed him again. What was she doing? Tig had _saved _her. She…Jesus…did she…_love _him?

"Holly…" Juice was out of breath, reaching for her again.

"Stop!" she held up a hand, repositioning her towel with the other. "Just stop. I can't…I can't…" she dissolved into incoherent panting and hated herself for it. Images of her father and blood and Tig with a gun in his hands overwhelmed her and she stumbled backward until she was sitting on the edge of the bathtub. She stared at the floor, tears leaking from her eyes, sucking in shamed breaths.

She realized Juice was beside her when his hand settled on her back. "God, this is so embarrassing…just go away," she pleaded. She couldn't believe she'd lost control, couldn't believe that her emotions concerning Tig were what had stopped her.

She expected Juice to be pissed or hurt, but when she glanced up he just looked sad. And as mortified as she was that tears continued to slide down her cheeks, she knew she'd made the right call pushing him away. Sex with him wouldn't be random, it would be within the club, the ripples of the senseless act echoing across the surface of the MC and eventually reaching everyone. Tig had gone nuts when she'd just gotten a little chummy with Juice, what would he do if they took things all the way? Holly thought about Tig being inside some other woman and shuddered.

"I'm sorry, Juice," she said, dashing at her tears with the back of her hand. "I'm so sorry I led you on."

He shrugged. "Nah, you didn't. I just thought maybe…I dunno," he shook his head and stared at the opposite wall. He took a deep breath and seemed to draw courage from it. When he turned back to her, he looked like he'd decided something. "Look, you're hot, Holly, that's just a fact. And just because of the things that happened in your past…you don't have to keep beating yourself up. You don't have to settle."

She knew what he meant. She didn't have to settle for Tig. She didn't have to attach herself to someone incapable of loving her back.

Holly smiled, if a bit sadly. "You're so sweet, Juice."

He returned her grin, sadness and all. "But that isn't gonna cut it for you, is it?"

"I'm sorry," she repeated.

He nodded, clapped her once on the knee and stood. "I'll be watching TV if you need me," he offered as he left.

When he was gone, Holly braced her forehead in her palm. She'd pushed away the only man who'd ever treated her right. She felt like the biggest bitch on the planet.

***

Stahl pulled her gun as she popped up behind the open passenger door of her unmarked cruiser. Five other cars and two patrols with spinning blue toppers were ringed around the dumpy house and the clearing, headlights lighting up the forest like daytime. The scene before her was unmistakable and likewise infuriating.

A rusted out van and old Ford pick-up were nosed up to the house, all four tires of each vehicle flat as shit. A half a dozen men in jeans and leather biker vests stood on the porch of the shack, hands raised in deference to the agents and uniforms waving guns and shouting orders. One of the bikers turned and the headlights of Stahl's cruiser highlighted the word MAYANS in all caps across the back of his cut.

She stowed her gun with a disgusted snort. Estevez came jogging up to her, short red tie flapping behind him like a dog's tongue. "Mexi bikers!" he called as he drew up to her position. "And guess what they had?"

She gave him a tight-lipped, non-smile. "Three cases of AK-47s?"

"Yeah." He frowned. "How'd you know?"

She slammed her door with excessive aggression. "Fucking Sons! Goddamn fucking biker assholes!"

***

A quarter mile away, perched on an outcropping of rock that jutted from a great overlook spot, the goddamn fucking biker assholes shared a laugh over the chaos of lights and sirens down below.

"Goddamn," Clay muttered around a chuckle. "I had no idea we'd pull this shit off."

"Jesus, did you see Alvarez?" Chibs was still in hysterics. "Poor bastard didn't know what hit 'im."

"Those spike strips were a good idea, VP," Bobby said.

Jax shrugged, but grinned. "Where's the fun in them gettin' away?" He turned sideways and popped Opie lightly on the shoulder. "You a'ight?" he asked softly.

Opie nodded, and then, for the first time in months, the hint of a smile ghosted across his lips.

Jax sighed before he raised his cigarette to his lips again. Stahl now had her hands totally full with the Mayans and a whole mess of illegal guns; enough to keep her off the Sons for months. He looked up at the stars and felt that maybe, finally, their luck was about to turn the corner.

***

Another night, the same gas station. Agent Harding looked down at his dinner for the evening, a Butterfinger this time, and grimaced. Everyone else was out on the SAMCRO bust and here he was watching a stretch of empty highway for seemingly no reason. He pulled out his cell to check the time and realized he had absolutely no coverage out here. Great.

The loud rumble of an engine disturbed the quiet and Harding glanced up absently to see a motorcycle pulling up to one of the pumps. He started back in on his candy bar but did a double take. The rider wasn't in MC colors, just jeans and a western-cut flannel shirt. But the kid popped off his helmet to reveal a whole mess of strawberry blonde hair.

Harding scrutinized the bike. It was, oddly enough, a _white_ Dyna. Everything he'd seen in Cali was grey or black with the exception of those crotch rocket punks on their red and yellow Suzikis. And the more he looked at the kid, the more familiar he seemed.

He leaned back into his unmarked and checked the photo copied profiles Estevez had given him. He shuffled through Munson, Ortiz, Teller, Telford…bingo. Epps. Harding glanced back at the young biker pumping fuel into his Harley and grinned. This was the young Son, the one who'd been missing along with…another scan…yep, Ortiz, mohawk tattoo guy.

A little professional thrill went through the agent as he contemplated the likelihood that he would run into one of the Sons on this deadbeat route. Shit, if he could lead the others to wherever the hell this little dumbass was headed…thoughts of promotions danced through his head like fucking sugar plums.

The kid was settling back on his bike and snapping his helmet back on. Harding didn't have much time before he got away and his opportunity was missed. He checked his phone and its lack of bars and winced. And his car was so shitty he didn't have a long-range radio. His walkie wouldn't work this far out.

Blondie had cranked his bike and revved the throttle a couple of times.

"Fuck it," Harding muttered, sliding behind the wheel. He didn't have time to check in with the boss lady. He'd just follow and get a bead on where the kid was going, then go back for reinforcements.

He started the Crown Vic and pulled out after the Harley, headlights dancing.

**TBC**


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: If further writing goes as planned, there will be two more chapters after this one. This one was really hard to write for some reason, but hopefully the others will come easier. I've always been a firm believer that if you mention the rifle over the mantle, you have to fire it before the story is out…so, commence firing. Literally. **

* * *

Holly had been on her back, staring at the bedroom ceiling for the better part of two hours. When she'd searched her bag for something to wear, she'd realized that she'd accidently stuffed one of Tig's shirts in with her stuff and tears had threatened again. What had she almost done with Juice? What did any of it mean? She had her feet on the pillow, her head dangling off the end, hair swinging slowly like a brown pendulum as she followed the lazy track of the ceiling fan with her eyes. Her .357 lay on the sheets beside her and she stroked absently at the cool steel with the very tips of her fingers. She was all shaky inside and beyond insecure and for some reason the feel of the metal was comforting.

The incident in the bathroom was bothering her for multiple reasons. First off, it felt like cheating on Tig. And even though he hadn't made her any commitments, being with someone else would dim the respect and affection she had for him. She had never figured herself as one for monogamy, but here she was wanting something solid. Then again, she hadn't exactly been given the opportunity to actually _feel _things like this before, so she was stumbling through the sensations like a teenage virgin.

And then there was the shocker that someone as innocent and goofy as Juice could actually want her. Didn't he know how badly she'd been ripped up? Didn't he know that she panicked at times and had to be reassured that she was okay now, she was safe? She had been used and abused and wasn't any good to anyone, especially someone like him. Holly almost wondered if she'd gotten things wrong, if she had been looking for protection when she should have sought out love. But she didn't really understand love. It was just a word, one that was used too often but rarely proved. Action, sacrifice, protection, loyalty…those things were real. And what she felt for Tig wasn't just obligation. No, it was something more. A connection that all of Juice's sweetness couldn't provide.

The cabin was so small she could clearly hear the front door open and boots scuff across the hardwood. Half-Sack had returned. He and Juice traded words and then his boots came down the short hall.

"Hey, Holly?"

"Yeah?" She craned her neck backward so she was looking at him upside down.

The kid's hair looked like it had been thoroughly licked by a goat and his grin could have blinded a person. "We pulled it off!" he said, sounding breathless. "Oh, man, you shoulda seen it…" he frowned. "Actually no, that would've been bad…but we got rid of Stahl, Holly! You're in the clear now. Club too."

She bolted up off the bed, turning around and facing the Prospect. "Are you serious?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Things were perfect tonight."

Holly's heart pounded as she prepared the question that she had to ask. "What did Clay say…about me?"

His smile slipped and for a second Holly thought he was about to deliver bad news. "Clay's cool," he said. "We need to sit tight 'til day after tomorrow, but he's okay with you staying in Charming. I mean, you can't live in the clubhouse or anything -,"

The rest of his sentence was cut off as Holly flung her arms around his neck and squeezed. He didn't return her hug, just held his hands out awkwardly to the side. "Um, you're welcome?"

***

Agent Harding slowed his cruiser to a crawl as he wove down the tree-lined dirt road. The bike had of course made quick work of the twisty path, but his Crown Vic was another beast entirely. Light filtered through the vegetation up ahead, warm, yellow and inviting. Stahl had long suspected that the Sons had a safehouse somewhere and he'd found it. He killed his headlamps as he came around the last bend in the trail. Uphill from the main road was a little stone and log cabin, windows blazing. Two motorcycles and a yellow El Camino were parked up next to the porch.

"Jackpot," he grinned to himself as he came to a full halt. A figure passed in front of one of the curtained windows and his heart did an involuntary leap. He had just hit pay dirt.

Harding sat there for awhile, drumming his fingers on the dash and trying to decide the best course of action here. Logic told him to put it in reverse and go straight back to base camp. He would tell Stahl and her other cronies and a whole fleet of agents would come up to the cabin. But then again, Stahl was busy busting the rest of the club at the moment and booking and processing those vandals could take all night. She might not be able to make it back up to the cabin until morning. And who was to say these two would still be up here then? When they didn't hear from their buddies, Epps and Ortiz might high-tail it on to the next undisclosed location.

He scanned the plates of the El Camino, wondering if that was something they kept up here all the time, or if there was a third with them. He checked his phone again on the off chance…nope, still no signal.

Harding was just reaching for the gearshift, prepared to turn the Ford around, when the front door of the cabin opened. Light spilled out across the gravel lawn and a lone male figure exited. Lust for a promotion won out, and he put the car in park.

***

Juice could tell by the uncharacteristically giddy sound of Holly's voice that Sack had delivered the good news. Clay had decided she could hang around. And it didn't really matter if none of them knew what that meant for the girl as far as housing and income went, but one thing had been decided, she would forever be tied to the Sons. And for some reason, that saddened him to no end.

It made him think back to his time as a hangaround, back before he'd even been a prospect. He'd had a choice, not much of one considering his current home life, but peaceful times and prosperous living hadn't led him to the MC. Only Jax knew what it was like to be born into it, all well adjusted and shit. No, Juice had stumbled for a while, trying to find his place in the club. But at least there had been a choice. He'd never been held captive and almost killed and felt at the mercy of a group of men who didn't care one way or the other. This was not a choice for Holly and that was sad. Or maybe even sadder was the fact that she didn't even care if she had a choice. She was that damaged.

He called himself a dumb fuck for making a move on her like that, but even if he'd known she would push him away, he still would have done it. She was very unlike the girls he usually fucked and her balance of hurt and whole intrigued him. It took some kind of strength to come out okay on the other side after what had been done to her. Not to mention he was a good Catholic boy and detested the thought of hurting women in any way. That was Tig's thing, not his.

He hadn't realized he was frowning until he caught his reflection in the microwave. _Too much deep thinking, man _he told himself. He popped open the leftmost drawer along the row of cabinets and dug through the utensils until he found the little Ziploc full of hand-rolled joints. Some were kind of smashed, probably older than he was, but they'd still get the job done. He pulled the two neatest out of the bag, grabbed his lighter off the coffee table and headed for the front porch.

Juice holstered all his feelings where they belonged and leaned back against one of the support rails as he lit up. He took a short drag, but held the smoke in for a while, enjoying the burn, letting all the mind-numbing goodness absorb, then exhaled slowly. As he worked on the joint, he took mindless stock of the dark woods surrounding him. He'd never been much of an outdoors kinda guy, much preferred cement and steel to trees, but had to admit it was nice tonight. An owl called somewhere and was answered by the yipping, trilling bark of a coyote. That sound had always freaked him out, made the short hairs of his mohawk stand on end.

Another drag, another aimless sweep of the night…_what the fuck?? _

A dark sedan was parked down at the end of the driveway. And there was a man climbing out of it. A man in a suit.

"Fuuuuck" he muttered, ditching his joint to the gravel. Maybe he was already fucked up, or maybe Mr. Suit was really fast, either way, the agent was already up the drive. And a dead wind meant the smell of weed was heavy on the air.

_Shit…shit…shit…_He made it halfway to the door before the flashlight blinded him.

"You! You on the porch, lemme see some hands!"

Juice had assumed the position enough times to know that resisting was never a good plan. He turned so that he was facing the door as he lifted his hands up over his head. His brain went on nerd auto-pilot as he listened to the agent's cheap shoes clomp across the floorboards.

_Okay, suit means ATF…means he's gotta be one of Stahl's guys. Wait…did that bitch figure out where the cabin was? No way, no fucking way, man. But that would mean they've had someone sitting on…oh, shit. Sack. Shit shit shit…_

A hand thumped down on his shoulder and then traveled downward, across his back, around his ribs. Ah yes, the pat-down.

"Have you been using marijuana this evening?" Suit asked in a very stiff, official voice. The way he said _marijuana _reminded Juice of a geeky high school health teacher trying to use all the 'proper' drug names. Loser.

"Nope," Juice lied. "Just enjoying Mother Nature -,"

"Shut up!"

"Yessir." He was being a smartass and didn't care. If he could keep this dickhead occupied long enough, maybe Half-Sack and Holly could slip out the back. They had come so far with their plan and he clenched his teeth so hard they hurt at the prospect of getting caught after all this. He'd take the hit if he had to, do time for the club, but please, dear God don't let…

The door opened and Half-Sack poked his head through.

***

"Hey, guys, do you wanna…" Holly trailed off when she stepped into the living room and saw Half-Sack standing inside the cracked front door, head sticking out into the night, his body as rigid as if he'd just been struck by lightening.

Then she heard a loud male voice she didn't recognize outside and Sack backed into the room. Intuition told her to move, and move fast, so she backed into the bedroom and flipped around the doorframe just as several pairs of shoes thumped across the floor.

"You, next to him, hands behind your head," the stranger said.

Holly's heart made a mad leap against her breastbone. She flattened herself against the wall between the door and the dresser, damp palms mashed against the rough cut planks. Scenes from a half a dozen _Law & Order _episodes flashed through her head, ones in which the words _hands behind your head _were muttered as badges and guns were flashed. Whoever was out there was a cop.

Her pulse pounding in her ears, she leaned over and pulled her phone off the dresser, disconnecting the charge cord with a flick of her thumb.

"I wanna see wallets," the cop said. "C'mon, both of ya, now!" From the strain in his voice, Holly guessed the guy must be a newbie. He didn't have any of Stahl's oily grace. Then again, that may have been the result of some serious soul-selling on the lead agent's part.

Holly's fingers shook as she dialed.

***

It was a long trek through the tangles of scrub forest back to their bikes, but victory tasted sweet and made the distance far more tolerable. Tig was intent on enjoying this short-lived high they were all riding. Because if he stopped to think about what it really meant, it freaked him out a little bit.

His phone chirped in his pocket and he pulled it out with a frown. The rest of the guys were with him…he recognized Holly's number on the ID display.

"Yeah?"

"Tig," her voice was almost a whisper. "I need you."

***

Tig's instructions had sounded like crazy talk, but there was no question that Holly was going to follow them to the letter. She stepped into her boots, tucked her gun against the small of her back and slipped her phone into her front pocket in a silent rush. The bedroom window hadn't been opened in ages and the residual humidity had damn near welded the thing shut. She braced her feet at shoulder's width and pushed until the tendons stood out in her skinny arms. The sash let out several loud pops and creaks, but didn't budge.

"Who else is up here with you?" the cop asked the guys out in the other room. Shit, had he heard her?

"Just us losers," Juice drawled.

Something that sounded suspiciously like the hula girl lamp on the side table crashed to the floor. "I asked you a goddamn question!" Cop yelled.

Holly made another go at the window, this time with desperate force. Her boots slid as she pushed. And then the sash and sill came apart with a wretched cracking sound.

"What the fuck was that?" Cop demanded.

Time to get out. Holly hauled herself up through the opening and tumbled blindly into the air beyond.

She fell farther than she thought she would, landing on her side and sending her breath rushing out of her lungs. She tried to suck in oxygen, but her chest wouldn't expand. She was curled up, face stinging where she'd scraped it on the gravel, and her mind screamed that she needed to get moving before the Agent came out after her.

It took another couple of seconds, but her lungs finally started working again and she was able to stagger to her feet. Tig had told her to find the asshole's car and disconnect the battery cables. She had no idea where said car was, or if he had one. He very well may have left it out on the highway and walked up to the cabin.

She skirted the edges of the building, staying in the shadows. The front door was still open and happy yellow light spilled out, just bright enough for her to spot the faint shine of painted steel down at the end of the drive. The car.

She cast one glance back toward the cabin to be sure she hadn't been followed, then headed for the sedan. It was a standard issue dark blue Ford, lights on the dash and, oh hell yes, keys in the ignition. Holly opened the driver's side door and fumbled under the steering column for the hood release. The first lever she pulled turned out to be the emergency brake. The second opened the hood with a metallic _thunk_.

"Hey!" A shout came from the cabin.

Holly jerked her head up and saw the cop come barreling out through the door, gun and flashlight raised.

Her gut twisted with panic. He was coming and she hadn't disabled his car. "Shit…"

"You, hands up, away from the car!"

_He can't get away, Hol _Tig's voice echoed in her head. She knew what he was going to do when he got there, and she was oddly okay with helping him. _Can't get away…can't get away…_

She pulled the keys out of the ignition and took off into the tree line.

***

Tig didn't know why Jax was the one who'd come with him, but it somehow made sense. They hadn't said a word, just locked eyes and known that they needed to go together. For Holly. For all the wrongs committed. For one last stab at brotherhood.

Their bikes ate up the pavement, engines roaring, moving so fast the ring of the tailpipes turned into more of a scream. They rode side-by-side, outrunning the reach of their headlamps and it still didn't feel fast enough.

It was four months all over again. This crazy girl he'd somehow managed to keep alive was in danger again. And again he was running to her rescue. The next morning, he might regret what he was feeling, but right now, all he felt was worry. And that scared the hell out of him.

***

Holly pounded through the forest, mindless of the branches and thorns that snagged at her clothes and left scratches on her bare arms. Every few steps she tripped on a root or a rock and staggered, pushing herself upright and onward against rough tree trunks. Her palms were bleeding, jeans torn open in several jagged places. But she still had the keys to the cruiser in her front pocket. Still had the .357 tucked away in her waistband.

She had no idea where she was going, but was pretty sure she was running a wide, but parallel line with the edge of the cabin property. She didn't want to get too far and end up lost; unable to help Juice and Sack. She figured the agent must have tied them up or cuffed them or something.

Holly came to a massive fallen tree that was going to take a good running leap to get over, and stopped instead, lungs and thighs burning. She braced herself against the wide trunk and sucked down sweet oxygen, scanning the surrounding forest while her chest heaved. Oddly enough, she caught the faint glow of a light through the layers of branches and underbrush. She squinted and realized she could see a building. The cabin. She'd been running until she thought she might pass out and she was only a hundred yards from the cabin.

Before she realized what she was doing, she had walked closer, trying to glimpse either of the two Sons through the blazing windows. She kept going, crept closer until only a thin screen of vegetation shielded her. She was along the side of the cabin, looking at the open doorway in profile. Through the quiet night, the rumble of a voice and the shuffle of feet on wood floated from the cabin.

Holly clapped a hand over her mouth to shield her gasp as Juice and Half-Sack stepped out onto the porch with their hands cuffed behind them. The agent followed, gun drawn, and motioned for them to head down to the cruiser.

God, when was Tig going to show up?

***

They left their bikes on the side of the dirt road about four hundred meters from the cabin and went the rest of the way on foot.

As they came around the last bend, Tig and Jax both drew their nines. Tig glanced over at the VP and met his hard let's-do-this face, the one that made him look like more of a punk than usual. Right now though, Tig didn't care. He was sure his own mug was on prison style lockdown. The thought of some asshole ATF agent laying hands on Holly…he ground his teeth.

His Marine instincts kicking in, Tig swung wide of the turn, side-stepping, bringing his gun up as he surged ahead of Jax. The VP let him go, hanging back to provide cover fire if necessary. They may have let Stahl live, but there were no pretenses here. There was only one way this agent was leaving the woods…and it involved a bullet.

Tig felt all his muscles come to life under his skin. He shut down all the absent thoughts and curiosities in his head, just wiped away any emotions he may have had for the situation. He'd learned a long time ago to compartmentalize at times like this, and he caged every part of himself that wasn't one hundred percent cold blooded killer.

The curve came to an end, they reached the end of the drive and –

There was a car slanted across the gravel and a suit was shoving Juice and Sack towards it.

***

Holly had picked her way toward the drive, keeping just behind the cover of the trees. She wracked her brain for some way of getting the bikers loose and only succeeded in bringing tears burning up behind her eyes. After all the careful planning, after everything the Sons had done for her, she was about to bring them all down. And poor Juice and Sack wouldn't survive a day in prison. And Jax had a baby to worry about. And Tig…God, her savior. She felt physical pain at the thought of him getting locked up.

It was all her fault.

_You're stupid._

_It'll be better if everyone thinks you're dead._

_Better off dead…_

_Better off dead…_

She was behind them now. They were headed toward the car and soon the cop would realize that the keys were missing…and then what? Come looking for her? What if he had a spare set? She hadn't thought of that.

And then, under the pale wash of moonlight, Holly saw two men appear on the other side of the car. One had hair that turned silver in the grey haze, the other's remained dark as shadow. Jax and Tig, had to be.

The agent saw them too and raised his gun.

***

"Let's just hold up a sec here," Jax reasoned, voice oddly calm. The ATF jackass across the car from them was shaking, gun hand trembling so bad he most likely wouldn't be able to get a shot off. Or he might freak and shoot all of them. Damn rookies.

As if to prove he wasn't a threat, Jax dropped his own gun and caught it by the trigger guard with one raised finger, flipping the weapon upside down and rendering it useless. "Come on, man," he said. "No reason we can't all walk away from this."

Tig didn't drop his nine mil, quite the opposite in fact. He maintained his firing stance, sights trained on the suit's head.

The kids stood cuffed and absolutely no help, shooting wild glances between their brothers and the agent who'd bested them. Tig had expected Holly to be with them, but she wasn't. He didn't know if he should be relieved or more worried. She could still be inside, tied up, or worse…he remembered her crumpled and bleeding on the floor of her house and didn't want to think about worse. His finger caressed the trigger, just itching to pull it.

"Drop you weapon," the agent said. Even in the low moonlight the sweat on his brow was visible.

"I just did," Jax said.

"No," he motioned toward Tig with the muzzle of his department issue Beretta. "That one. You better _both _disarm. Now, goddamnit!"

"Just take it easy…"

"Shut up. You and your asshole friend are gonna put your weapons on the ground and assume the fucking position."

Jax sighed and shifted. "Look, man -,"

"I said _shut up_!" the agent yelled. His hand steadied on the Beretta and he moved it fast over toward Tig, planning on taking out the armed one first.

Tig went for his trigger. Most likely, they would fire at the same time. One of them would get hit, maybe both of them –

The cannon blast that echoed through the clearing was not the modest _pop _of a 9mm. It was a big, loud, booming sound that bounced off the trees and made all their ear drums ring.

_Am I hit? _Tig wondered. Except for the ringing in his ears, he felt alright…

The agent went limp and flopped forward, knocking roughly into Sack before he face-planted against the side of his cruiser. His face slapped against the window and he kept moving, sliding and crumpling down to the gravel, boneless as a worm.

"…the fuck?" Jax breathed.

Tig glanced up, chest heaving with pent up adrenaline and saw a shadowy figure step clear of the trees. It was a slight, narrow strip of movement, a very little person who stepped slowly into the patch of moonlight.

Holly's face was oddly placid, her features neutral. She took slow steps toward them, almost as if she was in shock. The .357 hung as a dead weight in her right hand.

Holly. Holly had shot the goddman ATF agent. Hell, Holly had fucking _killed _the goddamn ATF agent.

"Holy shit!" Juice managed between deep, gasping breaths.

The girl's eyes were sightless until she locked onto Tig's stare, then she started blinking rapidly.

"Hol…you okay?" Tig asked slowly. He was almost afraid to move in case she was still trigger happy, but he tucked his gun away and walked around the nose of the sedan.

Holly glanced down at the dead agent and her chest starting pumping like a bellows under her tank top. "He…" she was getting close to hyperventilating. "He…he was gonna…shoot…you…oh, did I…oh shit…I'm sorry, Tigger," she looked up at him with wet, terrified eyes. "I'm so sorry, oh Jesus, I didn't mean to get you guys…Tig, I'm sorry…"

She was falling apart. She'd been solid through everything so far, but this was too much. And she was afraid he was mad.

Tig couldn't name it, but he felt something, and whatever it was made him step over the cooling body and put his arms around the girl. He didn't care that the guys were there or that the embrace was contrary to everything hard he'd cultivated in himself, he pulled Holly into his chest and she cracked completely in two. She cried; great, blinding sobs tearing out of her throat as she fisted his shirt in her little hands.

He folded her into him, tightened his arms and let her emotions run their course. He didn't admit that he needed it too. "You're okay," he said. "C'mon, you're alright."

**TBC**


	14. Chapter 14

**So anyway, this is the second to last chapter. Only one more! Than I'll get cracking on "Bring the Pain" again.**

"Matches?"

Juice's hand was steady as he passed over the book.

Tig stared down at the wadded up bundle of cloth that had been Holly's clothes. They were now soaked in kerosene and sitting at the bottom of a freshly dug hole. It all had to be burned, couldn't leave behind any traces of Agent Brent Harding, ATF. They'd found the guy's wallet and badge, had figured out that he didn't have a radio or cell reception. Here went hoping no one knew he was up here.

He pulled a match out, refolded the book, and struck the thing against the designated strip. The match head flared with a _hiss_, the fire leaping to life and then dimming a bit. Tig didn't really hesitate, but he lingered, weighing the damage all of this was going to cause.

"Asshole deserved it," Juice spoke up.

Tig glanced over at him and was surprised to find him hard-faced. In the dark, the match's flame danced inside the kid's brown eyes, his cheeks uncharacteristically rigid over a clenched jaw.

Juice had been weird since the shooting; kept looking at Holly, kept swallowing so hard his adam's apple jack-knifed in his throat. The fierce look on his face now almost made Tig suspicious…almost.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "He did."

Tig threw the match down into the freshly dug hole and the grisly package at the bottom ignited with a rush.

**-O-**

Holly rubbed the bar of Irish Spring against her right hand over and over again, the soap sliding on her wet skin, suds building and dripping down her arm, trailing nearly to her elbow. The jets of the shower pounded hot and steady. She had washed every inch of her body twice already but seemed on some psychotic mission to keep repeating the actions.

Juice either had a friend in the crime scene business, or he had watched way too much _CSI_, but he had been very specific with the instructions. She needed to get the gun shot residue, he had called it GSR, off her hands and arms. She had to clean under her fingernails, wash her hair thoroughly. Her clothes would have to be ditched. She needed to scrape all the dirt from the soles of her boots, maybe even scrap them too if the mud was too caked in.

Juice and Tig had stayed behind to deal with her clothes and the body. Jax and Half-Sack had brought her back to the clubhouse so she could clean up while the Sons were briefed on the happenings in the woods.

Holly knew that under all the soaping and washing and numbness, she was freaking out. But for now, she stood in Jax's shower up in the apartment and washed, rinsed, repeated. Washed, rinsed, repeated.

**-O-**

"Jesus Christ, she just blasted him?" Clay asked, scrubbing a hand down his jaw. He looked like Jax felt; worn the hell out.

He nodded. "Clean shot right in the chest. Girl's a dead eye."

Chibs laughed and drew dirty looks that he ignored. "Hot damn, didn't know she had it in her."

"That agent was about to cap me and Tig," Jax said sourly. "She snuck out earlier and must have been watching."

"Don't mess with her man," Chibs quirked his eyebrows and took a long, thoughtful drag on his smoke.

"Yeah, well don't bust out with the bubbly just yet, assholes," Clay said. "She killed an _ATF agent_. That's not just gonna go away." He shook his head and rolled his shoulders around.

"Look," Jax sighed. "From what we could tell, none of that guy's people knew he was up there. No radio, ne cell service. He obviously tailed Sack and wanted to make the arrest himself, glory and all that. I put a call in to Unser…I think I know how we can handle this."

"Yeah?" Clay sneered. "And how's that, genius?"

**-O-**

"What in the f-,"

"Now, just hold on a minute," Unser placed himself between Stahl and the ring of crime scene tape that had been set up around the smoking, ruined heap that had once been a department issue Crown Vic. "You have no jurisdictional override power here, so let me do the talkin', huh?"

Her eyes were big as planets, lids twitching with what he guessed was rage. She took a deep breath and spoke with more calm than her face suggested. "Why don't you try explaining to me why one of my guys gets _shot _and _torched _in a fucking gas station parking lot?"

"Sure," Unser flapped both his arms like a frustrated bird. "But how 'bout we step over here so these guys can do their jobs?" he gestured toward the firefighters who still milled about the carnage.

Stahl pressed her lips together until they disappeared, but she followed the chief around to the other end of the building.

He shot a look around, as if checking for eavesdroppers, and kept his voice low when he spoke. "Store clerk says two Hispanic guys pulled up in a truck…shot five or six times through the driver's side door, then set the thing on fire."

Stahl sniffed loudly, folded her arms, stared out at the night and then pegged him with a venomous look. "This town…you expect me to believe this was random, Mexican drive-by shit?"

"Not random. Didn't you and your crew bust half the goddamn Mayan MC tonight?"

She didn't say anything.

Unser chuckled. "What? You gonna try and blame this on SAMCRO after you lock up the Mayan Prez? _And _I've got an eye witness who saw the whole thing? Your guy was a sitting duck out here in a car…wearing a suit? That smells like fed to anybody, Son _or _Mayan."

Stahl paced away from him and held her hair off his face. She stared at the ground as she walked, muttering incoherent things to herself. Unser knew not to push. When she came back, she was more composed, but no less pissed. "Can I offer you a word of advice, one cop to another?"

He twitched his brows. "Sure."

Stahl leaned in, her breath hot against his face. "One of these days, this relationship you've got with Clay Morrow is gonna come back and bite you in the ass big time. If I were you…I'd let SAMCRO take the fall."

Unser's grin was slight. "Yeah, well, fortunately for the innocent people of this town, you're not me."

She nodded, conceding him the point, but her teeth clenched down on her bottom lip. "Nice seein' ya again, Chief," she said tightly. She flashed him a ghost of an evil smile as she walked off.

**-O-**

Clay was waiting at the bar when they returned to the clubhouse. The rest of the guys had the good graces to be elsewhere. The heavy drum of voices told Tig at least a couple of his brothers were down the hall in the weight room…even though he, Juice and Happy were the only ones who ever pumped iron. Hell, Chibs and Bobby hadn't picked up a dumbbell in ages.

The President was nursing something dark on the rocks and was propped up on one elbow like his head was heavy. He glanced up when Tig and Juice entered and gave a little facial shrug, telling them to park their asses.

Juice went around behind the bar first and snatched the Jack off the back wall. He took a swig, passed the bottle to Tig, then hopped up on a bar stool.

"Hear you kids had an exciting night," Clay said once they were settled.

Juice folded his arms and laid his chin over top. He wasn't even going to attempt to explain the ATF fiasco.

"No shit," Tig sighed. He fired up a cigarette and avoided Clay's eyes.

The silence stretched to a point that became uncomfortable. "Look, Clay, I'm so -," Tig started.

Clay waved him to silence. "Naw. Don't go there. Unser called…said two wetbacks shot up some ATF agent at the Food Mart off eighteen."

Tig glanced up and could sense that Juice did the same.

Clay was smiling. "Torched his ride, really fucked him up big time. Clerk saw enough to give descriptions to the sketch artist."

"Stahl?" Tig asked.

Clay shrugged. "On her way back to HQ with a van full of Mexicans…and jack shit on us." He sobered a bit. "Jax says you two were about to get offed. Said the girl saved all four of your asses."

Tig and Juice traded a look. Juice still had that meaningful, intense look on his face. He nodded, brown eyes big.

"Yeah," Tig said. "She did."

Clay raised his glass and gave a little air salute with it. "Somebody give the woman a drink."

"This proves her loyalty," Juice spoke up. "She's tight with the Sons…we all saw that tonight."

Clay nodded and Tig felt himself do the same. A cool rush went through him, rattling down his spine, easing the tension out of his muscles. Relief. He was relieved that Clay was cool with the girl even after all this. And he was too damn tired to worry about whether or not it was okay for him to feel that way. He wanted to see her.

"Where is she?"

"Jax sent her up to take a shower about an hour ago," Clay said. "Get rid of the evidence."

Tig took a pull of the Jack and left them, heading down the back hall toward the narrow staircase at the end. The voices in the weight room became distinct and then faded as he walked. He recognized Happy, Chibs and Bobby; the latter two most likely spotting for the first.

He didn't knock when he got to the apartment, just let himself in. The bed was unmade and Holly's bag was open on the floor, its contents overflowing onto the carpet. But the girl was nowhere to be found. Tig went to the bathroom and pressed his ear against the door before knocking. He registered the rush of the water and frowned. Clay said she'd gone to take a shower an hour ago.

Tig opened the door and wasn't prepared for the sight that awaited him on the other side. Behind the clear plastic shower curtain, Holly was sitting in the tub, legs curled up into her chest, dark hair falling over her shoulders and rippling with the current of the water. She had her back to the tile, the spray cascading down directly on top of her head. She wiped at her eyes…and shivered.

"Hol?" Tig stepped closer and caught his reflection in the mirror, startled to realize it wasn't fogged up with condensation. Come to think of it, the room wasn't rolling with hot mist like it should have been.

Holly didn't look up and he peeled the curtain back, testing the jets with his hand. The water was ice cold.

Tig pushed in the knob and cut off the shower. He watched with a mix of horror and fascination as the water dripped in tight beads down her bare back and shoulders, slid from the peaks of her raised knees and pooled around her feet in the tub. Holly quivered and rubbed her thighs with her hands…up and back, up and back. Her pouty lips were blue.

"Holly," Tig said softly. "How long have you been in here?"

When she didn't answer, he leaned down and brushed a wet lock of hair off her forehead. Her skin was cool. "Come on, sweetheart. How 'bout you get up?"

Again, Holly didn't respond, and some sort of switch seemed to get flipped inside him. Tig found it incredibly sad that after all the shit with her old man, after getting past that trauma and coming back and standing up to Stahl, she was reduced to a shivering, unrecognizable heap on the floor of Jax's shower. She had reached out to him over and over again, assured him he wasn't the monster he saw himself as, given him her unwavering faith…and now, if he didn't so something to reach back, she'd be finished. Broken at last.

Tig pulled the towel off the back of the door and pushed back the shower curtain all the way. He unfolded the towel, draped it carefully across her shoulders, and then climbed into the tub too. Mindless of his muddy boots and the wet fiberglass, he crouched down across from her and just waited. Well, waited and talked.

"So, um…Juice and I put the asshole back in his car and dropped it at the filler station on eighteen. Shot up the car, dumped the gun, lit it up. Clerk's a friend of the club so we didn't have a problem convincing him what to tell the cops." He started to feel almost frantic when she kept staring at her knees and he cleared his throat. "Yeah. So Stahl's leaving." Tig leaned forward, half afraid she'd pull away. She didn't, and he again parted the curtain of wet hair that had fallen over her face. "That was a good shot, Hol. Really. Me and Jax…the guys…you saved our asses back there."

Holly's head snapped up, green eyes huge and shimmering. She wasn't crying – he thought maybe she'd run out of tears at this point. "Tig…I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to get the club in _more _trouble."

"Holly -,"

"I just…God, when I saw him with the gun…" she sucked in a huge, shuddering breath "…he was gonna kill you…Tig, I couldn't let -,"

"Hol." He reached out and put his hands on her thin, wet arms. "Hey, look at me."

She did, but still looked terrified.

"Did you hear me? Stahl is _leaving_. We pulled it off, all of it."

"Leaving?"

He nodded and tilted his head down, fixing her with wide eyes. He suddenly _needed _her to come back to reality. "That sonovabitch deserved what he got. You didn't do anything wrong, Holly. Okay? You're here, I'm here, and we're okay."

"But aren't you mad at me?" she whispered.

Crouching in a cold bathtub, fully dressed and staring at the trembling, naked girl in front of him, Tig had an epiphany. He didn't think he'd ever had one of those before, but this one slammed into him harder and faster than the best orgasm. He wasn't soft and cuddly by any means, but he'd never pushed away a woman like he did Holly. With the Crow Eaters and his random, casual fucks, he let the women get all flirty, run their hands over him, kiss his neck, sit in his lap. It heightened the desire in them, thus giving him a better ride once he got their clothes off.

But with Holly, he didn't want her kindness, didn't want her sympathy. But he didn't want his brothers to have a taste either. Letting her in all the way might frighten her off of him. And rejection might be worse than the worship.

He liked her. He gave a shit.

And she didn't want sex, didn't want a good time…she wanted him. Wanted to be _his_. The guys said she was _his girl_. _His toy. His tart. _ His. She had proven, with the pull of a trigger, that she would kill for him. And maybe that was because he had killed for her…returning the favor. But maybe it was because she was…_his_.

"No," he said. "I'm not mad."

Holly wiped her hands down her face and huffed out a loud sigh. She wasn't over this, not by a long shot, but seemed immeasurably relieved that he wasn't angry.

"C'mon." He slid his hands under her biceps and lifted. She weighed as much as a damn bird and he stood, taking her with him easily. Tig tried not to get all stirred up by the fact that she was very naked and her nipples stood out tight and pink against the chill; perfect, ruby centers of her creamy, full tits. He pulled the towel down to cover her and folded her hands around the terry cloth.

"Dry off before you freeze to death." But he said it gently, without his usual coldness towards her.

Holly went through the motions mechanically, moving the towel but not looking at herself. She stared fixedly at a spot on the wall and kept shaking her head.

"You gonna be alright?" Tig asked.

She shrugged. "I just shot somebody…it might take a while."

"'Kay." Tig didn't know what else to say. The only kill that had ever haunted him was Donna. This agent didn't begin to compare, but it was Holly's first, hopefully her only, and she was already in a fragile place.

He stepped out of the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He'd give her some space, let her work through things on her own terms.

He was halfway to the door when her voice stopped him.

"Stay. Tig…please stay. Just for a little while."

**-O-**

Holly hadn't really expected him to stay. But he did. Tig braced a shoulder in the doorway of the bathroom and watched silently while she blow dried her hair. Then they migrated to the bed.

She was wearing one of his staple black t-shirts and lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. Tig was beside her, propped up on his side, and even when he was trying to be sweet, he was still a bit of a pervert. He had a hand spanned across her sternum, thumb making lazy circles around her right nipple through the worn cotton of the shirt. It wasn't a demanding touch, just a steady one. He was there and wasn't leaving any time soon. It relaxed her, helped her muscles unclench.

Minutes ticked by slowly, marked only by the gentle sounds of their breathing and the occasional creak of the bed frame when Tig shifted positions. Holly replayed the evening through her mind over and over again until it blurred and she could no longer tell what she was looking at. Slowly, the truth of what Tig has said began to solidify for her. His touch, the warmth of his body next to her…those things wouldn't be there if she was in hot water with the club. She wasn't being shipped off to another state. Wasn't behind bars. Wasn't…dead.

"Tig?" she said after awhile.

"What?"

"I," she wanted to phrase it in a way that wouldn't send him leaping off the bed ", I want to thank you. I never did and I should have. It was just after everything that happened that night…and Jax said…anyway, thank you." Holly rolled her head to the side and found his eyes with her own. She felt a lump start to form in her throat and swallowed. "I know you don't feel the same way, and I don't need you to…" that was a lie but she didn't care "…but I care about you. A lot. You're important to me."

Tig went completely still for a moment and shifted his eyes away. Holly had expected that. She had pushed too hard, tried to get gooey with him again.

But then he seemed to shake himself loose and refocused his gaze on her mouth. His hand left her breast and slid up her throat, around to the nape of her neck, his fingers curling into her hair. He pulled her part of the way and leaned in the rest. And then he kissed her very softly, almost sweetly, at the corner of her mouth, where her little fish hook scar stood out pink against her pale face.

That one simple gesture that was totally normal for average lovers sent chills down Holly's spine. Good chills. She sighed, feeling lighter than air as she shifted for him. Tig moved over her and propped up on his arms. His eyes were the color of a perfect spring day and they drilled into her, searching.

"Stay," he repeated her earlier words, voice gravelly. "In Charming. With me."

Holly reached up and scuffed her knuckles across his jaw, feeling the stubble and marveling that he'd actually let her touch his face. He seemed in a trance, and though she knew it wouldn't last, she was eternally gratefully for it in her current state of chaos.

"I'd like that," she said, an amazed smile creeping across her lips.

When Tig kissed her again, it was with an unmistakable ownership. He pressed in close, their faces touching, his nose against her cheek, and molded her lips with his. God, Holly wanted to he _his_, wanted to belong. She lifted her spine off the mattress, pressing her breasts flat against his chest, lifting her pelvis until her soft, feminine center made contact with his belt buckle. She thought she had been hot for Juice before, thought she had needed his body against hers…but that didn't compare to this. Tig was so masculine, so hard, so rough and dusted with fine dark hairs all over. She went from warm to desperate in the span of a heartbeat.

When his hands slid under the t-shirt, she lifted her arms for him, helping him rip the garment off over her head. Holly wanted him naked too, but decided she could be patient when his lips traveled down her neck.

Tig moved down her body, leaving licks and quick nips across her palette of smooth skin. He settled between her legs, parting them with hot strokes against her inner thighs and Holly stared at him, anxious and enthralled. His dark, curly head dipped down and she grew slippery with anticipation. She watched him watch her, knew his eyes were glowing as he studied her glistening slit. That hot, wet part of her begged to be touched and when his lips brushed her clit, she gasped.

Her head fell back against the pillows and her fingers twisted up in the sheets as he took her with his mouth. He was never gentle about going down on her and never made any apologies about it. His goatee rasped her sensitive flesh. His tongue penetrated and retreated, in and out, building the pressure in her lower belly until it burned. She closed her eyes and envisioned what he was doing. The mental image coupled with the sounds had her grinding her hips, wanting more. His shoulders dug into her inner thighs. His hands kneaded her ass, encouraging her movements.

He wasn't about pleasing her, but somehow that heightened the sensations. When he took what he wanted, he inadvertently gave her what she needed. And his lust for pussy wasn't something he was shy about. He loved it; the taste, the touch, the smell. He was greedy with his tongue and lips and it drove her nuts, twisting her body up with a painfully exquisite pleasure that had her breathless and desperate.

The pleasure built and built and built, then came to a peak and her orgasm rocketed through her system. She moaned as the pulses rippled just beneath her skin. As the sensations dulled slowly, pain ignited on the inside of one thigh. He'd bitten her. Left a mark, flagged her as his property like a goddamn dog. Holly lifted her head and caught the angry red mark on her skin, and couldn't take her eyes away as he ran his tongue over the bite. The pain was too familiar, but the tenderness afterward stirred up the fire in her again. She whimpered and Tig crawled back up her body.

"You taste so damn good," he murmured before he kissed her. He nudged her lips apart and slid his tongue between them, letting her taste her own honey.

It felt forbidden and sinful and Holly surged beneath him. She scraped her hands back through his hair. "Need you naked," she whispered between kisses.

He undressed with haste, cussing when buttons didn't come apart as planned. When he settled back on top of her, she loved the tickle of his chest hair against her nipples. His hand went between them, stroking her flat belly and traveling south. And then the head of his cock was pressing for entry and Holly folded her legs around his waist, linking her ankles and moving up his length. Took him inside from tip to base.

He was buried to the hilt, their hips and stomachs and chests kissing against one another. Sweat coated skin touched skin. Holly waited, hissed a breath through her teeth and let her inner muscles relax and stretch to accommodate him. He was so damn big, sometimes she wondered how he fit inside her. She raced her fingernails up the backs of his straining arms to his shoulders, feeling the building storm inside him heighten.

She rolled her head to the side, lips brushing his rough cheek. Holly knew it was him, really she did…

Tig rose up on his arms, careful not to separate them, and fixed her with a look that was tight with restraint. But he was doing what he always did; making sure she knew it was him. His eyes were huge and blue and threatened to swallow her whole. He waited for her to nod, and he buried his face in her throat. Then she contracted her pussy around him and felt his erection twitch.

"Do me hard, Tigger," she whispered.

When his thrusts started, so too did the delicious friction of his hardness against all her slick heat. She loved him. That was the last coherent thought she had before the wet sounds and the building pressure consumed her like wildfire.

**-O-**

Warm. Holly was warm when she batted her eyes open the next morning. Warm and sore in all the best places. Her head was still fuzzy with guilt and worry, but she felt better. Much better.

She stretched and shifted over onto her side, shocked to find Tig sprawled beside her, dead asleep. He was on his back, one arm over his eyes, chest expanding with deep, slow precision. Him staying the night felt meaningful. Like he was serious about keeping her around.

Her stomach rumbled and brought her biological necessities to the forefront. She'd skipped dinner the night before…what with killing an agent and all…and was now starving. Coffee would be good too.

She slipped out of bed without disturbing Tig and pulled some clothes out of her bag. She wasn't going to repeat her post-sex fashion screw up, so she pulled on her track suit and tied her hair up in a messy knot. She even wore a bra this time.

Holly had her hand on the doorknob when Tig spoke.

"Where you goin'?" his voice was rough with sleep.

She turned and saw him peeking out from under his arm, squinting against the sunlight that filtered through the curtains. She wanted to smile and bit her lip to hold it back. "Coffee. You want?"

He rolled over onto his side and mumbled something to the affirmative.

"Be right back," she promised.

**-O-**

Stahl leaned back against the front fender of her cruiser and watched Estevez and Smith escort two cuffed Mayans out of their shitty Oakland dive. One was bald and sporting a fu Manchu, the other had long hair held back by a red bandanna. They were perfect matches to the sketches the store clerk had provided. Just damn it.

When they drew closer, Estevez pulled a plastic evidence bag from his waistband. Inside was a .357 revolver. The murder weapon.

"We'll run ballistics on the piece, but this is them, boss," Smith said with confidence.

She snorted. "Yeah."

**-O-**

Jax lowered his binoculars and grinned. From their hiding spot three houses down, he and Chibs had watched the bust go down. "They got 'em," he said.

Chibs coughed a laugh. "Aye, it's a beautiful thing, Jackie-boy."

"Yeah it is."

**-O-**

"Long night?"

Holly jerked when the voice sounded just behind her. Coffee slopped over the edge of the mug and she winced at the burn. At least the stuff wasn't fresh and piping hot. She sucked at the space between her thumb and forefinger as she turned.

Gemma was propped in the doorway of the clubhouse kitchen, fully dressed and coiffed as usual. She had her arms folded under her breasts, one boot cocked out to the side. Her eyes were accusatory. "Sorry," she said, not sounding like she meant it.

"'S okay," Holly said. She wiped down the counter with a paper towel and gathered up her coffee mugs. She wanted to put as much distance between herself and the Queen as possible.

"Not so fast there, sunshine." Gemma reached out and took one of the mugs from her. "You and me need to talk."

**-O-**

Gemma took her outside and they sat on one of the picnic tables, feet on the bench. They drank their coffee in silence for a bit. Gemma smoked a cigarette. Holly's hunger shriveled up while she waited. This had the potential to be a very bad conversation.

"You shot a fed," the Queen said at last, voice steady. She turned and pegged Holly with a hard look. "Care to explain that?"

Holly ran through all the things she could say to appease Gemma, but none of them seemed sufficient. Finally, she just settled for the truth. She met the other woman's gaze without flinching. "Yeah. He was gonna shoot Tig. And I wasn't gonna let that happen."

"Shoot a man, put somebody in the ground for him like that…you love him?"

"Yes."

Gemma started to say something else and Holly cut her off.

"Not _love _like you're thinking. Not Romeo and Juliet. And I don't care if he doesn't give a shit about me…he's important to me. I couldn't stand for him to get shot, get in trouble, because of something I did. He protected me and I protected him. So yeah, I love him."

And then the most amazing thing happened. Gemma smiled. "Right answer, sweetheart."

**-O-**

When Tig checked the bedside clock, he realized Holly had been out for coffee for an hour. He climbed out of bed and shrugged into yesterday's skanky clothes under the guise that he was pissed that he had to do everything for himself. But he was secretly starting to worry she'd gone all guilty-freaked again and had slit her wrists or something.

As he made his way down to the main floor, he wondered if maybe he'd pushed Holly too hard the night before considering all that had happened. He'd left her more than just the one bite mark. Had ridden her hard, ended up on the floor at one point. But he could vividly recall her rearing back on her heels, licking his cum off her lips, grinning and caressing her glorious tits for his viewing enjoyment. No, definitely not too hard. But that didn't mean she wasn't depressed again this morning.

Clay was at the bar with coffee when he hit the common room. Juice was passed out on the sofa, snoring. Tig ducked into the kitchen and then scanned under the pool table and toward the back door.

"She's outside," Clay said. "With Gem."

"Jesus…" Tig headed for the door.

"Hold up," Clay caught his elbow as he walked past. His face was passive when Tig glanced at him. "She's fine. Just gettin' her initiation speech."

Tig frowned. "Her what?"

Clay twitched a grin. "It's all good, brother. All good." He took a sip of coffee and nodded across the room towards Juice. "Hey, go kick him or something. That goddamn snoring's gettin' real old."

**TBC**


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: And so we come to the end. This has been challenging to write for a lot of reasons, so I'm so excited that I was able to finish it. This feels like one of the weaker chapters, I guess because it wraps everything up. I'm ready to swap back to my Chibs story, but will say that I **_**might **_**be leaving a door open here. You'll see it. It's not open wide, just a crack. I had this little thought about one of the guys and I'm afraid it might blossom into a full fledged story. We'll see…maybe you guys will indulge me a little more after this.**

**Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed or favorited this story. Your support makes writing worth while!**

**Six weeks later…**

Early June was gorgeous in the San Joaquin Valley. Holly supposed it probably always had been, but this year the sun just seemed extra yellow and warm. She'd never been a big fan of winter. She loved to wear shorts and drive with the windows down. Loved the smells of freshly cut grass and rain on the sidewalk. In another month or so, the landscape would become hotter, drier, the afternoon heat almost unbearable. But right now, the weather was perfect.

Holly caught her reflection in the plate glass window of the post office and was again reminded of how much of a difference a few weeks could make. She was back up to her usual 113 pounds and filled out her cut-offs and strappy tank top in a way that made men sit up and pay attention again. Her roots were growing back in nicely and a visit or two to Gemma's hairdresser had cut and colored the rest so that it was all a blend of chocolate and auburn. Of course, Gemma's hairdresser had also whacked on some very Gemma-like bangs that Holly wasn't so sure about.

Things besides her appearance had changed drastically too. For starters, Charming was her home. Officially. Buying or renting a place had just seemed like expense without reason, so she had been informally given Tig's two bedroom place off the main strip. She'd nearly danced when he'd given her the key, to which he had rolled his eyes and wandered back to the bar. She'd cleaned the place top to bottom. It needed new furniture, new kitchen appliances, new bedding…new everything. She made purchases a few at a time. And now that she had a job again, she could continue to fix the place up.

Bobby had put a good word in for her down at Rodney's: Charming's redneck, honkey-tonk bar. The guys didn't particularly like the place, but the Hairy Dog was absolutely off limits due to its "Nazi asshole" clientele. Holly liked Rodney's. She got along well with the other girls who worked there and had always been a bit of a wannabe cowgirl. Her boots and jeans fit right in.

She spent most nights at the house, and Tig was there a good portion of the time. Some evenings she joined him at the clubhouse if she didn't have to work and they ended up in his dorm room. They didn't live together, didn't define their situation as "dating" either, but there was something. The other guys called her "Tig's girl" since he shuddered at "Old Lady". That was fine by Holly; she didn't need a title to tell her what she was.

It had taken some longer than others, but most everyone had become used to her presence. But then…there was Gemma. That morning out on the picnic tables, the Queen had laid down marshal law like nobody's business and now seemed hell bent on making Holly stick to it. Hence her afternoon's task; the weekly clubhouse grocery run.

Holly didn't really mind. The boys kept a running list taped to the fridge and added things as the week went along. On Monday morning, a wad of cash from the run fund would be sitting in an envelope on the bar for her and she'd take it and the list and hit the bricks. The market wasn't far, but she had to take her car in order to carry everything.

Today she'd decided to park and then walk the two blocks down to Nikki's for a salad first. The little café was as close as it came to trendy in Charming and when she shouldered through the door, she was hit with the intense smell of coffee and bakery bread. They did the whole breakfast pastry thing, but had branched out to cold sandwiches and salads too.

Holly wasn't surprised to spot a whole mess of mint and blue scrubs. St. Thomas was just around the corner and a good portion of the hospital staff lunched here. She almost wondered if –

"Holly."

She turned and spotted Tara and two other docs around a tiny table. Jax's Old Lady offered a smile. "You here for lunch?"

Holly took a step or two towards their table, feeling a bit awkward and unsure of the protocol here. She and Tara got along alright when they interacted, but those meetings had been fewer and farther between now that Holly was officially attached to Tig. And Tara was with doctor friends, so she probably didn't want to introduce them to a bartender with a scar on her face.

"I was gonna grab something to go," Holly said. "I'm out on grocery duty."

"Ah." Tara nodded and her smile turned into a wince. "Gemma rope you into playing go-fer for the day?"

She shrugged. "There's worse things to do."

"Yeah, guess you're right." Tara looked back to her plate and Holly edged away, feeling like she'd been dismissed.

"Hey, grab your food and join us."

Holly snapped her head around. "You sure?"

Tara smiled. "Yeah. I'll introduce you to my friends. April, Caroline…this is Holly. She's dating one of Jax's friends."

Both other doctors offered her smiles and nods.

Tara motioned toward the counter with her fork. "They just got in fresh strawberries. I had them cut some up and put them on my salad."

"Thanks," Holly felt a smile creep up on her as she went to place her order.

**-O-**

There was a soft rap on Hale's open office door and he looked up to see Candy Eglee leaned against the jamb.

"Call on three for you," she said. "It's Agent Stahl."

He sighed. "Thanks, Candy."

She nodded and headed back into the bullpen as he picked up the receiver and pressed three. "This is Hale."

"Afternoon, Deputy," Stahl purred from her end. "How's things in Mayberry?"

"What do you want?"

"Ooh, somebody pissed in your Wheaties this morning."

He sighed heavily through his nostrils. "Did you call for a reason, or are you just not sick of the Andy Griffith jokes yet?"

She sighed too. "Fine, straight to business then. I've been processing this whole Mayan shit storm and things aren't adding up. The gun that was used to shoot my agent was a .357. Now, last time I checked, gang bangers are big into the full auto stock . If you can't fit it with a shell catcher, they ain't buying. Now, how do you explain a _revolver_ capping my guy?"

"Maybe they're branching out. Didn't wanna leave casings behind."

"Yeah." Stahl sniffed. "I'm sure."

"Is that it? You just called to speculate?"

"No. I called to tell you that I know the Sons orchestrated this whole thing."

"Really?" Hale found himself amused. "How so?"

"I'm not at liberty to give you the specifics of the case…but you can bet your ass Teller and Morrow had something to do with this."

"And what…you want me to head start an investigation here?"

"All I need -,"

"Tell you what," Hale cut her off. "Don't call us, we'll call you."

He hung up the phone with a resounding _ring _of the cradle meeting the receiver. He smiled.

**-O-**

"Dude, stop pushing this, alright? I don't need your _help_," Juice muttered.

Tig shared a look with Bobby over the little dork's mohawked head and then put a not so delicate hand on Juice's shoulder. "Look, man," he said, using his free hand to gesture grandly toward the gaggle of Crow Eaters out in the parking lot. Four of them were talking to one of their hangarounds, Johnny, and were just begging to be fucked in their stilettos and painted-on jeans. "We're just concerned about your health is all. You haven't gotten laid in two weeks."

Juice twisted toward him, frowning. "First off…how the hell do you know it's been two weeks?"

"Damn," Bobby chuckled, pulling a twenty out of his pocket and passing it to Tig. "Good guess, Tigger."

He accepted the money with a shit eating grin. "Don't question my skills. I know these things."

Juice looked between the two of them, shocked and disgusted. "You guys _bet _on me? That's…man, just, no…so wrong." He grumbled and wiped a hand down his face. "And second of all, how is this affecting my health?"

Tig replaced his hand with his elbow, leaning down so hard Juice had to stagger for balance. "Real simple. You not getting laid means you're twitchy, means you're gonna do something stupid…means I'm gonna have to hurt you. Might be hazardous to your health." He shrugged innocently. "Just sayin'."

"I'm not twitchy," Juice protested.

Bobby rolled his eyes.

"Look at you, twitching right now," Tig said with a cackle. "You look like the goddamn Prospect."

"Okay, _not cool_," Juice widened his eyes and locked his jaw.

Tig halted mid snort. He'd seen the kid's face look like that maybe once or twice before…damn, what did this remind him of? It seemed that at some recent point, Juice had gone all hard-core, I'm-gonna-fuck-somebody-up intense. Tig wracked his brain, then realization dawned hard and fast. The last time Juice had manned up was the night Holly had shot the ATF dick. The kid had been all dark looks and flared nostrils; staring at Holly and swallowing like he had a fist trying to punch through his neck.

A deep throated engine came growling down the street and turned in at the gate. Tig turned and caught Holly's Camaro coming at them, all shiny black steel and polished chrome. The 454 Big Block under the hood put some of their bikes to shame, rumbling like a whole fleet of Harleys.

"Ooh, I hope she remembered the bacon bits," Bobby said as they watched Holly park and go around to pop the trunk. She had been doing the bulk of the clubhouse shopping for the past couple of weeks and it had become a sort of game to see what she would and wouldn't purchase. She'd brought Half-Sack his requested ribbed condoms and they'd all just about spit out their beer at the hilarity of the hand off.

Tig turned to tell Bobby that his fat ass didn't need any bacon bits and was met by yet another of Juice's new expressions. The tech wiz was staring across the parking lot, eyes huge and almost…sad? His lips had come slightly apart. He was breathing in long, pained sighs through his nostrils.

Tig followed his line of sight and realized he was looking at Holly.

He had this sudden, overwhelming urge to slap the back of his head hard enough to knock his teeth out, but he forced himself to take a breath and think about it. Although Holly wasn't his Old Lady by definition, she sure as hell didn't belong to anybody else. Tig had no intentions of sharing. Ever. Under any circumstances. He hadn't come through the maelstrom that had been the past year just to have his prize taken from him.

Telling himself that Holly was just another piece of ass wouldn't work anymore. Because she wasn't. Clay, Bobby, the guys, hell, even Gemma had grudgingly admitted to that. So why the hell was Juice staring at her like he wanted a taste? Like he cared way more than he was supposed to. Tig knew that Juice was unwaveringly loyal to the MC, therefore its code of conduct. That he would never risk his status as a Son for someone else's girl.

Still…when Tig watched her come towards them, wearing those ragged denim shorts with her boots, swinging her hips side to side…he knew why Juice was looking. He knew that when his eyes roamed over her, his geeky brain wasn't doing the thinking anymore.

He glanced back at Juice and frowned. He wouldn't do anything to the kid…yet.

**-O-**

"What're you lookin' at?"

Gemma moved sideways and jacked the blinds up higher on their cord so Clay could get in beside her. "The tart," she said lightly, not intending insult with the words.

Clay sighed and shaded his eyes with his hands as he peered through the office window. Holly was wrestling grocery bags out of her trunk and passing them off to Sack, painted lips working and no doubt telling him what went in the fridge versus the freezer or in the cabinets. He shook his head. "You know, she's not technically a Crow Eater…you really gotta run her around all the time?"

Gemma smiled. Oh, how little men knew about the ways of things. "Not like she's complaining. Besides," she gave her husband a steady look. "If she's gonna hang with this crew, she needs to toughen up a bit."

"Oh, I forgot shooting a guy is just light stuff compared to all this _woman work_."

"Been there, done that," she said. "You know I'm right here. Being with a Son ain't a walk in the park. And Tig? Please. No, somebody's gotta put her through her paces, see what kinds of _woman work _she can handle. I don't need another runaway or crank whore to deal with. Girl's gotta support her man standing on her own two feet."

"I know, baby, I know," Clay surrendered. He held up both hands and backed away. Then he grinned. "You like her, don't you?"

Gemma glanced back through the window and watched the girl head into the clubhouse. She smirked. "I don't hate her."

**-O-**

Holly put her hands on her hips and sighed as she examined the interior of the big stainless fridge. Sack had thrown cheese, meat, salad, veggies and milk in all willy nilly. Not one item was on the correct shelf. She started rearranging things and quickly lost room in her arms for all the containers she was trying to juggle.

"Need a hand?"

She instantly recognized the warm, almost smoky voice and grinned. "Try five, but I'll take what ya got."

Juice stepped up beside her and she passed off the food clumsily. At some point, his hand brushed her breast and Holly gave him a stern look. "Am I supposed to think that was an accident?" But she was fighting off a grin by the end of the question.

Juice flashed her that goofy, million watt smile of his and shrugged with a tilt of his head. "Totally accidental."

"Yeah, I bet," she chuckled, returning her attention to the fridge. She sorted and he held whatever was on standby, making the task much more entertaining than it should have been.

Holly was thankful for Juice at least once every day, sometimes more often. She loved Tig, didn't want to be with anyone else, but he wasn't exactly her friend. That was where Juice came in. He always knew just what to say or do to get her laughing, was such a cute doofus that his good moods were infectious. He was the only one she ever spent any time with socially. He listened when she zoned out and talked about the guilt she had over killing the ATF agent, assured her it was okay, that she had saved them, that she wasn't a bad person because of it. He'd waited through her tears and not flinched for a second at her emotionality. He stopped by the bar most nights, had a beer and kept her company when business was slow.

But he never had a date with him. Never hit on the girls at the bar. Holly hadn't seen him so much as flash a smile at one of the Crow Eaters at the few club parties she'd attended. And more often than not, she would look up and find him staring at her from across the room, dark eyes haunted.

She knew that whatever he felt for her, it wasn't in the realm of "just friends". And if she was stronger, she would have gone cold on him, completely shut him out so she didn't lead him on. Their little adventure in the bathroom weeks ago had been somewhat welcome at the time, sweet even, but she didn't dwell on it. She didn't crave him like she did Tig, didn't _need _him in that way.

But she loved having someone to talk to, watch movies with…someone who could make her feel normal for once. It made her selfish and cruel, but Holly couldn't push Juice away. She only hoped it didn't damage him too badly.

**-O-**

Happy hour saw a peak in customers at Rodney's. After that, things dwindled down to the usuals who had to be pushed out the door after last call. By nine the place was quiet. Smoke swirled around beneath the green glass lamps and the juke box was dominated by slower, heavier numbers that were a little more Molly Hatchet and a little less Gretchen Wilson.

Holly wiped down the bar for the thousandth time, knocking peanut shells and napkins to the floor. Unlike the bar in Lodi where she'd worked before, Rodney's had a kid who swept and mopped every night. Holly and the other girls waited tables and worked the register, all under the close scrutiny of Neil; head barkeep.

"Hey, Holly," Liz called from further down the bar.

Holly glanced up and caught her co-worker's devious grin. "Yeah?"

"A couple of your boys are here."

She checked the door and saw Bobby and Tig making their way towards the bar, Tig looking around a little disgustedly like he hated the place. She grinned. He _never _came to see her at work.

Tig rapped the top of the bar to catch her attention and nodded toward a booth against the far wall. She checked her cell for the time and frowned. She'd already had her dinner break.

"Here," two beers were thrust into her hands. Liz was still grinning like an idiot. "I'll cover for ya," she said with a wink. "Go see him."

Holly curled her hands around the icy bottles and smiled a thanks to the other bartender. She walked around the end of the bar, paused to drop a quarter in the juke box and punched the appropriate number before joining the guys at their table.

"Hey, darlin'," Bobby greeted as she slid into the booth next to Tig. "They working you too hard here?"

She rolled her eyes and slid their beers to them. "Hardly. Neil's about as chill as they come."

Bobby nodded. "He's a good guy."

She nudged Tig with her elbow. "What're you guys doing here? Thought you didn't like this 'country-ass place'?"

He ignored her question and lifted his beer up to the light, frowning at the label. "What the fuck's this shit?"

"Amberbock."

"_What_?"

Holly sighed. "It's just dark Michelob. Clay drinks the stuff."

He gave her a doubtful look from the corner of his eye.

"Do you want me to go get you a Bud?"

He made a face. Grumbled. "No," he sighed, taking a swig.

**-O-**

Six weeks. Six weeks Holly had been a constant in his life. No ATF, no crazy fathers. No voices. Tig hadn't hallucinated at all in the past month and a half.

He had a running pro-con table in his head when it came to the girl. Con; giving up the dive off Main Street and losing some of his alone time. Pro; consensual sex whenever the hell he wanted it. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, kept waiting for Holly to start suffocating him.

But she didn't. She was happy to rearrange the house and come to work. He was the one who went to her most nights. She brought him beers and massaged the kinks out of his shoulders and nearly killed him with all those adoring looks.

Tig still felt guilty now and then…about Donna, about what had happened to Holly. And as hard as it was to swallow all the girl's affection, he thought it might, just might be worth keeping her around. Even if he needed a Crow Eater or three every now and then. Even if he needed the space the runs afforded him; just the road, the wind, and his brothers.

But when a long, painful day came to a close, when the madness descended, he had someone who at least tried to take all that away. _Wanted _to take that away. No one, not even his ex wife had ever looked at him the way Holly did. That counted. For what, he didn't know, but it counted. Definitely.

He glanced down and watched her talk to Bobby, using her hands to emphasize whatever point she was trying to make. She had filled back out, looked hot as hell, even in the bad bar lighting. The juke box went silent, clicked and whirred, and then the opening chords of "Midnight Rider" floated through the bar. It was his favorite song and he knew that Holly had picked it for that reason.

She turned toward him, green eyes all shiny and smiling. "How's the beer?"

He shrugged. "It's alright."

She turned back to Bobby and he felt her hand on his knee under the table.

Yes, he was Clay's bodyguard. And yeah, his first responsibility was for his and Gemma' s safety. He was a killer. But that wasn't _all _he was. Saving Holly didn't even out the cosmic score, not by a long shot, but it helped a little.

_Nothing but a goddamn killer, Tig._

Nope. Not anymore.

**The End**


End file.
